


My Heart Is An Empty Vessel

by likethenight



Series: My Heart Is An Empty Vessel [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Feelings, Fluff, Getting Together, King Bard the Bowman, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Negotiations, Pining, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Romance, opposite of slow burn, rebuilding of dale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 88
Words: 191,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Bard can't stop looking at the Elvenking. Thranduil can't stop looking at the Bowman. After the battle, Thranduil is exhausted and vulnerable and Bard is feeling overwhelmed, and they find themselves leaning on each other for support. Everything moves very quickly after that.
Relationships: Bain of Dale & Bard the Bowman & Sigrid & Tilda, Bain of Dale & Thranduil, Bard the Bowman & Bard's Children, Bard the Bowman & Bard's Children & Tauriel, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Bard's Children & Tauriel, Bard's Children & Thranduil, Sigrid (Hobbit Movies) & Thranduil (Tolkien), Tauriel (Hobbit Movies) & Thranduil (Tolkien), Thranduil (Tolkien) & Tilda (Hobbit Movies)
Series: My Heart Is An Empty Vessel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902442
Comments: 729
Kudos: 187





	1. Prologue: Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! I've been writing ficlets set during and after the events of this story during Writers' Month 2020, and although I haven't actually finished writing this story yet, I thought it was high time I started posting. Especially as I posted [the epilogue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191477) earlier today... *eyedart* I am well aware that I am six years late to this particular party, but hopefully the speed with which these two go head over heels for each other will make up for the lateness...
> 
> The title is a line from _Empty Handed_ by Empathy Test, because Thranduil is an enormous drama queen and it is also how he is feeling at the beginning of this story. 
> 
> There is of course one obvious issue with this pairing, and it is that one half of it is mortal. However, this story will have a happy ending, and the inevitable sad ending is not going to happen 'onscreen', as it were. And then the epilogue...plays very fast and loose indeed with canon in order to deliver the ultimate happy ending. *shuts up before I spoil the whole damn thing*
> 
> Enormous thanks to the invaluable [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious) for beta-reading, encouragement, plot ideas and squeeing. <33333

Bard could not stop looking at the Elvenking. Grave though the situation was, and much as he knew he should be focussing all his attention upon the wizard and the Hobbit, his eyes just kept darting to his right, quick glances under his eyelashes, drinking in as much of the magnificent sight as he could and hoping against hope that his interest was going unnoticed, regardless of the fact that wizard and Elf were doubtless both among the more perceptive creatures in Middle-Earth.

In all his time ferrying back and forth across the lake to Mirkwood on behalf of the Master, Bard had never seen the Elvenking in person and had known him only by reputation, although he had known exactly who he was when he had appeared all of a sudden in the ruins of Dale, preceded by his terrifyingly well-coordinated army - who else could it have been, after all, majestic and imperious and riding an _elk_ , of all creatures. His arrival had been unexpected, his generosity even more so. And now that he was here, Bard found that he could not stop staring. The King was very tall - taller than Bard by some way, though he himself was not exactly small in stature - and broad of shoulder, chiselled of face, with high, sharp cheekbones and strong dark eyebrows above blue eyes as deep as the lake. And he had long, ramrod-straight hair, silvery-white and loose-flowing almost to his waist, no braids or adornments other than the diadem he wore. Bard found he was especially fascinated by the Elvenking’s hair. It looked soft, heavy but light all at once, and Bard found himself wondering what it would feel like, to touch. To feel it brushing against his skin.

And then he wrenched his attention back to the conversation. The little Hobbit had some shiny jewel that he swore the Dwarves’ leader wanted more than anything, and was offering it as a bargaining piece, in the hope of averting a war.

Which was all very well, but Bard’s eyes were drawn yet again to the Elvenking’s tall frame, the set of his lips - what would they feel like, to… - the way his clothes draped elegantly about his lean, muscular body, and what would _that_ …

Earlier, when Gandalf had been talking about the storm he said was coming, the Elvenking had glanced at Bard, had rolled his eyes as though the two of them were in on the same joke about the pessimism of wizards. Bard had no idea what wizards were really like, although he knew the Elvenking was old enough to have seen kingdoms rise and fall and probably had a much better idea; but the brief moment of camaraderie had made his heart thump alarmingly loudly in his chest.

Bard forced himself back to the conversation again, making himself pay attention. This was important. Bard wanted no part of the Elvenking’s war; he just wanted what had been promised to his people. His people - he still meant it in the sense of his fellow townsfolk, not his subjects; he didn’t think he could ever think of them as that. They were his equals, and it was his responsibility to make sure as few of them as possible died. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Bard did not realise that his distraction had in fact been noticed, much less that it was the subject of his attention who had noticed, and even less than that did he know that the Elvenking was just as distracted by Bard as Bard was distracted by him. The King was just better at hiding it.

The Bowman was handsome indeed, thought Thranduil, dispassionately; his build spoke of strength despite the slight hollows at his cheeks which in their turn spoke of hunger, of forgoing food so that his children might eat. His dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders, threaded through with the first strands of silver, and he had faint lines around his eyes; the signs of age were exotic and attractive to the ageless Elf. Bard was certainly no longer in the first flush of youth, as Men reckoned these things, but he was surely in what Thranduil thought he had heard the Men describe as his “prime”. And his concern for his people lit him from the inside, burning like a fire within him, and Thranduil could not deny that it was most becoming.

What might those work-callused hands feel like against smooth Elven skin, what might that scruffy little beard - Thranduil arched an eyebrow only partly at the Hobbit’s scheme; the rest of his ironic expression was intended purely for himself. It had been a long, long time since he had felt anything other than appreciation for something aesthetically pleasing when he looked upon someone he might once have found attractive.

Bard spoke with a lilting accent that seemed to grow stronger when he was under pressure, his deep voice lingering over some words more than others. The rest of the population of Lake-town did not have this accent, and Thranduil thought he detected within it a hint of the sound of the Men of long-lost Dale. Thranduil disagreed with him on the matter at hand, but that did not mean he wasn’t enjoying listening to him.

Eventually it was settled; Thranduil and Bard would ride to the gates of Erebor with their respective armies and attempt to reason with Thorin Oakenshield. The Halfling seemed to think that the Heart of the Mountain would do the trick.

Of course, thought Thranduil, who had seen all of this before, it did not. He had to commend the Bowman for his optimism, he supposed, but he had ever known that Dwarves tended to lose their senses when too much gold was involved.

Then came the battle, although not in a manner that any of them had expected - except, perhaps, for Gandalf. Thranduil thought later that perhaps, for once, he ought to have listened a little more closely to the old wizard’s warnings. At the time, however, he was too busy fighting for his life, and feeling blow after blow sending cracks running through the ice in which he had encased his heart, nearly a thousand years before.

Afterwards, when he had returned from Ravenhill, when he had pulled himself together and covered up the cracks in his façade and ushered a weeping Tauriel down the hillside, he found the Bowman in the main square, clutching his three children close. That would be a habit of which the new Lord of Dale would need breaking, Thranduil thought, and then realised that his present situation owed everything to that way of thinking. Perhaps the new Lord of Dale had something he could teach the Elvenking, much as Thranduil was probably going to need to teach him how to lead his people.


	2. To A Quiet Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and his children take refuge in the Great Hall, and Thranduil and Tauriel go with them. Vulnerability leads to uncharacteristic openness and confidences.

Bard was startled to see the Elvenking entering the square as the sun began to set, his hand on the back of the red-headed Elf woman who had helped protect his children from the Orcs in Lake-town and had brought Tilda and Sigrid to safety when the dragon attacked. The she-Elf had been weeping, that much was evident, and Sigrid’s fingers flew to her mouth to cover a gasp. 

“Kíli,” she whispered, “oh, what has happened to Kíli?” and, shrugging off Bard’s arm around her shoulders, she ran across the square and wrapped her arms around the she-Elf. The Elf-woman seemed to sag against Sigrid and then buried her face in Bard’s daughter’s hair as Sigrid murmured something to her.

The Elvenking stood alone for a moment, looking nonplussed and, if Bard hadn’t known better, almost shaken. Then he visibly pulled himself together, drawing himself up to his full height, the air of calm superiority settling over him like a cloak, and he approached Bard, giving him that curious Elven salute, the hand on the heart and the head bowed. Bard nodded in return; he might have bowed, if he hadn’t still had Bain and Tilda held close to him, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let them go again.

“Ill tidings from Ravenhill,” said the Elvenking after a moment, his deep voice almost seeming to waver. “Thorin Oakenshield is dead, and his nephews too.”

“All three of them?” asked Bard, though there was no reason to question the news; it was just so - so unexpected, and so devastating, that all three of them were dead.

“All three,” said the King, his eyes downcast.

It took a moment for it to sink in with Bard’s children, but then Bain let out an odd little moan and Tilda gulped a sob, and Bard realised that of course, his children might not have known that Kíli and Fíli were Thorin’s nephews, but they had seen the she-Elf heal Kíli, and they were both of them old enough to see her sorrow and put two and two together. Bard tightened his arms around both his children, glancing over at Sigrid, who was still embracing the she-Elf; both of them now appeared to be weeping. 

“I am sorry, my Lord,” he said. “I must comfort my children. They have seen many terrible things today, and they - well, they knew Thorin’s nephews, a little.” He meant that he wanted the Elvenking to wait until tomorrow to start negotiations, assuming that was what he was here for, but was surprised when Thranduil nodded. 

“Of course,” said the Elvenking, his voice a little calmer now. “If you do not mind, might I ask that Tauriel and I come with you and the children to a quiet place, for a while?”

Bard couldn’t help raising his eyebrows in surprise, but he nodded in return. “There should be a corner of the Great Hall where we can sit for a while. The women and children are there, but I am sure we can ask for a little space.” He looked around and saw Percy not too far away, already organising the care of the wounded; exchanging a glance, Percy nodded and made a little shooing motion with his hand. Bard sighed with relief; Percy would make a very good second-in-command, he decided, if he really was going to have to do this whole leading-his-people thing. Turning, he shuffled Bain and Tilda towards the Great Hall, glancing back to see the Elvenking ushering Sigrid and the she-Elf - Tauriel - in the same direction.

They had barely got in the door when Hilda bustled up to them, exclaiming in joy that Bard and all three of his children were all right. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a quiet corner in here, have you, Hilda?” Bard asked. “Only the children have just had some bad news, and after the day they’ve had -“

“After the day you’ve had too, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Hilda. “And your friends too, of course. Follow me, my lovelies.” And off she went, batting not even a single eyelash at the Elvenking and his comrade. Bard glanced at the King and shrugged, jerking his head in Hilda’s direction as he set off to follow her. 

Hilda led them to the far corner of the Great Hall, miraculously unoccupied by women and children, and ushered them towards the bench that still ran around the wall, promising to return with hot tea and stew, and then she bustled off again, leaving Bard and his little crew to settle themselves upon the bench and the floor. 

Sigrid and Tauriel dropped to the floor and Tilda wriggled out of Bard’s grasp to go to them, curling up half in Tauriel’s lap and half in Sigrid’s as she burst into almost hysterical tears. Bard hovered between comforting his girls and sitting on the bench, but after a moment he realised that the girls would probably be best off looking after each other, and Bain still needed him; the lad had seen terrible things just as much as the girls had, he had known Thorin’s nephews just as much as the girls had, and he was, Bard confirmed with a glance at his son’s face, still heroically trying to hang onto the last shreds of his self-control. Bard sank down onto the bench and pulled Bain into his lap, never mind that the lad was technically too old to sit on his Da’s knee. Bain didn’t utter a sound, but curled into his father’s arms, resting his head on Bard’s shoulder and shivering hard.

After a long moment, the Elvenking sat down heavily next to Bard, his usual grace having apparently deserted him.

“I am sorry for your losses,” said Bard eventually, glancing at Thranduil out of the corner of his eye as he cradled Bain’s head against his shoulder, stroking the boy’s hair and pretending not to notice the shudders running through him.

“And I for yours,” said Thranduil, inclining his head rather mechanically, the words sounding empty. 

Bard frowned. “Forgive me for asking, my Lord, but are you all right?” Gone was the fascination he had felt the previous evening, replaced with an unsettled kind of concern. Granted, he barely knew the Elvenking, but this did not seem to be characteristic behaviour from one who was normally so preternaturally composed.

Thranduil did not answer for a long time, so long that Bard began to fear he had offended the King, but eventually he turned his head very slowly to look at Bard, and Bard was taken aback at the depth of suffering in those normally clear blue eyes. 

“My son is gone,” he said, and his voice was desolate. 

Bard drew in a shocked breath. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I did not see him here, I didn’t realise he was fighting.”

Thranduil shook his head slowly. “No, he is alive. But he has gone to the North. He and Tauriel scouted ahead of the Orcs from Gundabad,” he suppressed a shudder, “and then he accompanied her to Ravenhill. Which I suppose explains why you did not see him. He was only in Dale a few minutes.”

“Oh,” said Bard, feeling inadequate. “Well, I am sorry anyway, that he has left you.”

Thranduil made a sound that Bard interpreted, after a few moments, as a laugh, utterly without humour. “I have only myself to blame for that,” he said. “I have not had your easy way with your children, with my own son.” He sighed heavily. “And now it seems I have driven him away for good.”

Tauriel lifted her head at this, her eyes reddened and still filled with tears. “It was not your fault, my Lord, it was mine. If I had…”

“No, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, his voice suddenly taking on an odd timbre that sounded almost like warmth. “It was not you. No blame lies at your feet. I have been gradually driving my son away for centuries.”

“I can go and bring him back,” said Tauriel, tense and urgent, but Thranduil only shook his head.

“No, let him go. Sauron has grown bolder than I had realised, and Legolas will find good hunting with the rangers of the Dúnedain. Perhaps one day he will return.”

“My Lord -“ Tauriel protested, but Thranduil raised his hand and she fell silent immediately. Just at that moment Tilda broke into a fresh storm of sobs, and Tauriel’s attention was distracted by helping Sigrid to calm the little girl.

“Your son, my Lord,” said Bard, “I am sure he will return to you. Maybe he just needs to hunt some Orc.”

“No,” said Thranduil, looking at the floor between his feet, his silver-white hair falling over his face. “This is more than simple battle-lust. I have been driving him away by inches ever since his mother died.”

Bard nodded, the loss of a wife he could understand. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “My Maudie died when Tilda was born.” It didn’t hurt so much to say it any more, not now that nearly ten years had passed, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t miss Maudie every single day. “We named Tilda for her mother, you know. Maud and Matilda, two different ways of saying the same name.”

“My wife’s name was Auriel,” said Thranduil softly, painfully. “Daughter of the Morning, it means in your tongue.” He paused, gave another of those utterly humourless laughs. “And that makes twice I have uttered it since her death. Once in my tongue and once in yours.”

“And - how long has it been, if I may ask?” ventured Bard, fully expecting the Elvenking to close down at his impertinence.

But Thranduil drew in a long breath, and then spoke. “Almost a thousand years, more or less. I had to stop myself counting the days and the years a long time ago; it was that or go mad with grief.”

Bard opened his mouth to reply, found that he had absolutely no idea what to say, and shut it again. Almost a _thousand_ years. He couldn’t imagine it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com’s dictionary last updated October 2008): 
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> This chapter has taken me over 300,000 words posted to AO3! *party streamers*


	3. No Need For Honorifics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil get some fresh air, and Bard takes a risk, which pays off quite delightfully.

Just then Hilda came bustling back with a pot of tea and another of stew, followed by young Agnes the cobbler’s daughter bearing bowls, mugs and spoons all heaped in her arms.

“Here you go, my loves,” said Hilda, “hot tea and stew, you get some of that inside you, you’ll all feel much better.” She eyed Bard and Thranduil shrewdly. “And you two, you go and get yourselves some fresh air while you eat. Agnes and I will keep an eye on your little ones.” Hilda’s tone brooked no argument, and Bard, who had learned through long experience that when Hilda sounded like that any attempts to argue were only wasted time, got stiffly to his feet, setting Bain gently down upon the bench. The lad looked up at his father, but Hilda came to sit next to him and enlisted him to help her and Agnes dish out the stew and the tea, and good lad that he was, he followed her orders without a sound.

Tauriel looked up too, making to stand, and Hilda clucked her tongue at her. “No, no, my love, you stay here too. I should think these two need to talk about all manner of things, and you have had just as much of a day as everyone else, by the looks of you. Here, take your tea and your stew, and help Sigrid with Tilda.”

Tauriel, too, acquiesced without a word, and Bard could not help a soft chuckle as he led Thranduil to a door nearby that was standing open. They stepped out into a courtyard of sorts, although the buildings on two sides of it were almost completely destroyed, and Bard turned his face up to the darkening sky. 

“I don’t think Hilda has any idea that your Tauriel is not the young slip of a girl Hilda thinks she is,” he said, and Thranduil made that humourless laughing sound again.

“Perhaps it will do her good to be treated like a human child for a little while,” he said. “She has had a hard lesson to learn today, and I fear I only made it harder for her.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Bard, wondering whether it might also do the Elvenking good to be treated like an ordinary person, just for a while. Thranduil seemed to be in an oddly open mood, given how aloof he had been before the battle, although it would surely not last much longer, and Bard could tell he was suffering. If Bard could take this opportunity to help him - and if Thranduil let him - he would try his best. He sat down on a chunk of stone with his bowl of stew and mug of tea, and gestured to Thranduil to sit with him, which, after a moment’s hesitation, the Elvenking did.

“I drove her away too,” said Thranduil, staring at the rubble in the yard with empty eyes. “I told her that what she felt for that Dwarf was not real. She dared to defy me, and I repaid her far more harshly than was warranted, given that she was right.”

“She _defied_ you?” Bard’s question came out slightly louder than he had intended, so great was his shock. He could not imagine anyone daring to defy the King of the Woodland Realm, not least one of his own soldiers.

“She stood in my way and forbade me to leave,” said Thranduil. “I had seen all I could stomach of our people lying dead in the streets. My cause was lost. There was nothing to stay for. Tauriel,” he paused, sniffing at his mug of tea and taking an experimental sip, screwing up his noble face for a second at the taste, “Tauriel thought otherwise, and did not hesitate to let me know.”

Bard had to get his thoughts in order before he could reply to that. Nothing to stay for? Nothing to stay for, when Men and Dwarves were dying in their hundreds, their thousands? “I had thought we had an alliance,” he said eventually, struggling to keep his voice level.

“We did,” said Thranduil, “but I had my purpose, as you knew. Long have I closed my eyes against the needs of others. Tauriel opened them, and now I find I cannot help but see.” He set the mug of tea down on the floor, and Bard noticed that his hand was shaking; almost imperceptible, it was, but it was there. 

Bard was not sure what to say to that, and after a moment Thranduil began to straighten up, making to stand. 

“I thank you for your hospitality,” he said, “but I must return to my -“

“No,” said Bard, instinctively placing his hand on Thranduil’s arm, holding him in place, knowing that if he let the Elvenking pull back on the cloak of his detachment it would go badly for both of them. “Don’t go yet. That lieutenant of yours is doubtless very capably seeing to your men, just as Percy is seeing to mine. Stay, and at least eat the stew, if you’re not going to drink your tea. Hilda would have my head if I let you leave both.”

Thranduil turned his head to look at Bard’s grubby fingers on his silver-mailed sleeve, the movement just ever so slightly uncanny, just enough to remind Bard, as if he could forget, that he was not dealing with any ordinary person here. Then he raised his eyes to Bard’s face, his gaze full of loss and pain, and something in the back of Bard’s mind said _well, damn it, in for a groat, in for a guinea_ and made him lean in and press a clumsy kiss to the Elvenking’s perfect mouth.

Horrified at his boldness, Bard pulled back almost immediately, preparing to apologise, to attempt to explain himself, even as the something in the back of his mind pointed out that it had felt rather as though Thranduil had been beginning to respond, before Bard had so unceremoniously broken contact. 

But before Bard could speak, Thranduil tilted his head a little, an expression almost like wonder in his eyes, a tiny, genuine smile on his lips. 

“I think the Valar have been trying to tell me many things today,” he said softly. “And perhaps for a long time, but I have been determined not to listen. I am beginning to see that perhaps I should pay a little more attention to them, and a little less to my own self-regard.”

Bard could only stare at him, suddenly utterly captivated again, just as he had been the previous evening, only more so, because this time he did not have to steal glances under his eyelashes. “Don’t go,” he murmured after a moment. “Stay, even if only for a little while.”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, inclined his head. Bard suddenly realised that he was holding his breath, waiting for an answer. 

“Take comfort where it is offered, and give it in return,” said Thranduil, almost inaudibly, and he closed the distance between them with a kiss at once soft and definite. 

“If - if that’s all right with you, my Lord,” said Bard somewhat breathlessly, setting his mug of tea and bowl of stew down on the ground; he sensed that having his hands free might be a good idea. 

And so it proved, for Thranduil laughed softly, genuinely this time, setting his own bowl aside and reaching out to draw Bard closer, sliding one long-fingered hand into Bard’s hair. Bard shivered, leaning into the touch, and very tentatively brought his hand up to draw his fingers through Thranduil’s hair; it was as soft and heavy as he had imagined, and he shivered again, letting his eyes slide closed as Thranduil curled his fingers around the back of his head and pulled him in for another kiss, slow, lingering and definitely not chaste. 

“No need for honorifics,” Thranduil said against Bard’s lips. “If you are to be Lord of Dale, then we are equal in rank. Use my name.”

Bard didn’t feel all that equal in rank, and the tone of Thranduil’s voice sounded more commanding than requesting, but he wasn’t about to argue. Instead he pressed his lips to Thranduil’s again, parting them just slightly, wondering if Thranduil would reciprocate. He did, and the soft moan that escaped him at the touch of the Elvenking’s tongue to his was almost enough to make him feel ashamed, until he accidentally brushed his fingers against the tip of Thranduil’s pointed ear while trying to smooth his hair back behind it, and Thranduil made a sound that Bard would only have been able to describe as _sinful_ , if he had had enough of his wits left to be describing any of this. He tried it again, provoking another of those gloriously wanton murmurs, and then slid his hand down to cup the left-hand side of Thranduil’s face, although he had barely got there before Thranduil reached up and gently but firmly laced his fingers between Bard’s and moved his hand away, down to rest upon his thigh. 

After another few moments - blissful, Bard would have called them had he been in full possession of his faculties, which he wasn’t - he pulled back a little, unwelcome memories of the tasks before him making themselves known in the back of his mind.

“We should probably -“ he said, and Thranduil inclined his head and gave him a smile unlike any he had yet seen on the Elvenking’s perfect face. 

“We both have duties to attend to,” he said, but he made no move to stand, and his fingers were still interlaced with Bard’s.

“We do,” said Bard, and then, in a rush, before he could think better of it, “I would - I would very much like to see you again, later on, though. If this is not a temporary aberration, I mean.” He wasn’t sure where _those_ words had come from; he was a simple man, when it came down to it, not particularly well-read, his knowledge of the prophecy about the King under the Mountain had come from a tapestry he’d once seen, for goodness’ sake, not books. Not that anyone in Lake-town had really had access to books, they were all locked up in the Master’s library, where nobody ever looked at them, to be sure. And he didn’t know where all of this was coming from, either. “I mean, if it is, then fine. I don’t want to - to impose.” He wound down, feeling ridiculous, a feeling that only intensified when Thranduil laughed, softly, warmly - warmly?

“You are not imposing,” said the Elvenking. “And this is no temporary aberration, for now at least, unless you want it to be. Let us see to our duties, and then, when your children are settled and your people attended to, if you wish to come to my tent, you will be welcome.” He glanced at the bowls and mugs they had set aside. “Although I think we will have a foe more fearsome even than Smaug to face, if we do not take these back in empty.”

“You’ve got the measure of Hilda, then,” said Bard with a wry smile, pulling himself together enough to pick up his bowl of stew and his mug of tea, finishing off their contents as quickly as he could without making an enormous mess of himself. 

When he had finished, Bard glanced at Thranduil; his bowl was empty, but the Elvenking had clearly not been able to bring himself to drink the tea. 

“Tip it away,” said Bard. “I promise not to tell Hilda.”

“I am ever in your debt,” said Thranduil, laying his hand over his heart for a moment as he stood. Bard followed him, and they made their way back into the Great Hall, Bard realising for the first time that all this while they had only been a few steps from his children, and from Hilda; he hoped against hope nobody had thought to put their head out of the doorway.


	4. A Hint of Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Tauriel have an important conversation, and Thranduil returns to his tent to do some thinking, and to wait for Bard, if he chooses to come to him.

Thranduil watched as Bard gathered his children to him, checking on each of them and ensuring they had eaten their stew and drunk their tea. The girls were tearstained but quieter, and the boy had lost a little of the haunted look from his eyes; probably bustled out of him by the redoubtable Hilda, Thranduil could not help thinking. They were a close-knit little family, and Thranduil felt a stab of jealousy even as the sight of them warmed his heart a little. That had not been his way, and now he was paying dearly for it.

Tauriel rose to her feet and came to stand before him, her head bowed, and he realised after a moment that she was awaiting his judgement upon her for her insubordination earlier. Well, it probably amounted to treason, all things considered, especially as she had been banished at the time, but Thranduil could no longer bring himself to care. How could he send her away now, when his son was now lost to him?

“Come with me,” he told her. “I must make sure Feren has all he needs to see to our troops, and perhaps you might care to help him?”

Tauriel looked up at him, shock written clearly upon her face. “But, my Lord, I am banished. And should be twice over, for how I defied you earlier. Should you not be sending me away?”

“Perhaps I should,” said Thranduil. “Perhaps I should send you across to Erebor and the Dwarves, since you seemed to like them so much.” His tone was softer than his words might have implied, but the distress that flashed across her face before she regained control of herself was no less than it would have been if he had used his usual regal acidity. He continued before she had a chance to speak, wanting to make sure she understood that he would do no such thing, and wanting to make sure he said it before this strange mood of openness passed and he closed himself in again behind his walls. “But your people are here, are they not, and they have need of you. For your insult to the King you will have to be punished, and we will see about that later; but for your insult to me, you are already forgiven. I have forgiven you, pen-neth, and I ask for your forgiveness in return, for what I said to you.”

Tauriel just stared at him for a long moment, blinking in shock, and did not speak.

“You were right, pen-neth, and I was wrong,” said Thranduil, thinking as he did so that he could not remember the last time he had made such an admission. Perhaps it was time he learned to do it more often, at least with those to whom he was close. “I had an alliance with the Men and the Dwarves and I thought to abandon it for my own purposes. You made me see that I could not.”

Tauriel dropped her gaze again. “My - my Lord,” she stammered after a moment, but seemed unable to go any further.

“Come now, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “Did you not once call me by another name, and can you not bring yourself to call me by it again? I wish to repair what was broken between us.” And then, he added, silently to himself, perhaps I can begin to work out how to mend the bridge between myself and my son.

Tauriel swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Adarhanar? Truly?”

“Truly, pen-neth. I have lost a son this day; if I do not have to lose you as well I will count myself blessed.”

“I will try, my - Adarhanar. If I have not lost everything today it will be a comfort.” She paused, swallowed again. “Eventually. When my heart heals over, if it ever will.”

Thranduil reached out and drew her into his arms for a brief embrace, resting his uninjured cheek on her hair. “Just do not encase it in ice, pen-neth. That way lies only loneliness and despair.”

Tauriel did not ask what he meant, and he was grateful; he thought she was probably capable of working it out, in any case. 

“Now, we must take our leave of these people,” he said after a moment, setting her away from him again, although he did not take his hands from her shoulders for a moment, “and go and see to our own.” He gave his salute to Bard and his children, hand on heart, head inclined, and thanked Hilda for the stew and the tea, and then guided Tauriel out of the great hall. He must find Feren and hear his report, and then he thought he would give Tauriel into Feren’s care for now; his lieutenant would certainly have something for her to do to keep her mind off her loss, at least for a little while. The matter of her punishment for defying him would have to be addressed, but it could wait until the aftermath of the battle had been well and truly dealt with. 

Later, when he had heard Feren’s report and issued some orders, and seen Tauriel assigned a task, Thranduil returned to his tent and changed from his armour to a tunic and undershirt, leggings and long robe, shedding the last of the battle as he hung the armour upon its stand and pulled on a soft pair of knee-high leather boots. Perhaps he should have summoned his valet for this task, but in truth he was not sure where Galion was, and besides he was capable of doing it himself and he wanted to be alone. He sat in silence for a little while, grateful for the respite; he needed a few moments on his own to think over the day’s events, and his somewhat unexpected reaction to them.

He was not sure exactly what he had expected from this battle, he thought. To win, perhaps, and to take back his white gems from the King under the Mountain, and to ride back to the Woodland Realm victorious. He had not expected the scale of the slaughter, or the size of the Orc armies, and the reality of it had almost swept the ground from under him, when he had realised how many of his people he had lost in the name of his own desire for vengeance. He had not expected Tauriel’s defiance, right though he knew her to have been, and he had not expected Legolas’ departure, although he supposed he probably should have done. His son had not been happy in the Woodland Realm for a long time, and Thranduil did not think it had much at all to do with Tauriel. 

And now here he was, all his walls of ice shattered, his defences sundered; why else would he have allowed the new Lord of Dale so close to him, handsome as he was? He should have drawn away, pulled up his defences and cloaked himself in his dignity; but then again he could not entirely regret that he had done nothing of the sort. He had allowed the Man close, and in so doing he had felt the first hint of warmth around his heart that he could remember in centuries of cold aloofness. 

Thranduil could not quite bring himself to regret that, nor could he regret the offer he had made to the Man - Bard, indeed - just before they had re-entered the great hall. And he wondered if Bard might take him up on it, when his children were safely settled and his duties seen to. And then, if he did - what might happen then?

Thranduil poured himself a goblet of wine. No point wondering and worrying, he told himself. Either Bard would come to his tent, or he would not, and either outcome would be well. Thranduil was no Elfling approaching his first flirtation with excitement and nervousness; he knew how to hold himself so that none of his feelings were betrayed upon his face, no matter what those feelings were. 

He was a little nervous, though, he had to admit it to himself. The trouble with this state of mind, he thought, when one cannot quite rebuild one’s defences, is that all emotions get through like stealing little sneakthieves, not only the ones one might be comfortable entertaining. And so he would have no choice but to ride it out, ignoring as many of these treacherous feelings as he could until he was able to rebuild his walls. Perhaps not so high this time, or so impenetrable or so icy, but he could not continue to be so open for very much longer.

While he was without the walls around his heart, though, he thought he might risk letting Bard close to him again, and see what might come of it. That hint of warmth had intrigued him, and he found he wanted to feel it again; he was drawn to it like a moth to a candle flame and almost despite himself he hungered for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com’s dictionary last updated October 2008): 
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> adarhanar: uncle (literally: father-brother; this is my own translation and if anyone knows of a better/more elegant/more authentic one I would be delighted to hear about it!)


	5. Not That Sort of Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard visits Thranduil in his tent, and warmth turns to a spark, which will soon turn to fire and flame...

After a while Thranduil’s attention was drawn by sounds outside his tent, the voices of his sentries, and the low lilt that he already recognised as belonging to Bard. Thranduil suppressed the flare of nervousness in his chest and rose to his feet, settling his robe about him and pulling together the shreds of his self-assurance. 

A moment or two passed, and then one of the sentries pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside, snapping to attention and saluting. 

“My King, the Lord of Dale is outside. He says he wishes to see you, if you are not busy.”

Thranduil nodded, glad he had ensured that at least one of his sentries was one who spoke the common tongue. “Show him in,” he said, his regal attitude coming naturally to him when it came to dealing with his subjects, at least.

The sentry saluted and left the tent again, holding the flap open as Bard ducked inside, looking dishevelled and tired, but Thranduil found that even the sight of him lit that warmth inside him again.

“Welcome,” he said. “How are your children?”

Bard scrubbed a hand through his hair, smiling. “Well, or as well as can be expected. Thank you for asking after them. They’re bedded down in that corner of the hall, all three of them together, with Agnes to watch over them. I should think there’ll be nightmares later but I’ll be back to them by then.” He pulled a face as he realised what he had said. “Sorry to be rude. Well, I wasn’t expecting to sit up drinking with you all night - “ and was Thranduil imagining the look in his eyes, the spark that said drinking wine wasn’t all he was thinking of? “- but I honestly can’t. The children will need me.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil, firmly suppressing his disappointment, because what had he expected of this evening, really? “Might I interest you in at least one goblet of wine?”

Bard shot him a look full of gratitude. “Please. I can’t even begin to explain to you how badly I need a drink just now.” 

“I am sure,” said Thranduil, filling a goblet and handing it to Bard. “You have not, I would wager, seen a battle such as this one before?”

“Only in story books,” said Bard, accepting the goblet gratefully and taking a sip. “This was - well, it was nothing like that.” He shuddered. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’ll be glad if I never have to see anything like it again.”

Thranduil inclined his head, gesturing to the chair that sat across the table from his own, and sitting back down. Bard settled into the other chair with a long sigh and sat back, just inhaling the scent of the wine in his goblet for a moment.

“I am glad you came to see me,” said Thranduil after a moment. “I know you are tired.”

Bard sighed again. “I couldn’t sleep just now if I tried. Too many things I keep seeing when I close my eyes.” He turned his gaze to Thranduil, his dark eyes full of pain. “Tell me, do those images ever go away?”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head. “I still see my father dying before me and that was nearly three thousand years ago. My wife, a thousand years ago, my people in those battles and in the one we have fought today. You learn to close them away, but they will always be with you.”

Bard laughed, low and humourless. “I don’t know what I expected to hear, but I suppose I was hoping you’d say it goes away.” He reached across the table to curl his fingers around Thranduil’s. “I am sorry that such horror has stayed with you for so long.”

“I have learned to live with it,” said Thranduil. “Although perhaps I took it too far in walling myself off from those I care for.”

“I am sorry for what happened with your son,” said Bard. “I don’t know what I would do if any of my children left me. But - forgive me, but Tauriel seems to want to stay with you. I didn’t understand anything of what you said to each other, back in the great hall, but she looked like she adores you.”

Thranduil nodded sadly. “It is more than I deserve, for how I treated her, and I must still devise a punishment for her defiance of me as her king. But for the defiance of me as her - well, it is a long explanation, but she grew up with my son and she called me ‘uncle’ when she was young, and for her defiance of _me_ I have already forgiven her and I have told her so.”

“Good,” said Bard. “I think at times like these you have to set aside your normal way of thinking and just - well, just take things as they come and see where they lead you.”

Thranduil smiled. “I am trying that,” he said. “It is - unfamiliar.” He turned his hand over and curled his fingers around Bard’s wrist. “But so far I am finding the rewards are more than I could have imagined.” And he was sure he did not imagine the shiver that ran through Bard’s body at his words. 

“I would like,” Bard said after a moment, “to step out of my own life, just for a little while. I would like to set aside what has happened to me and to my family and my town and my people, and forget it for an hour or two. And here I am, sitting with you and drinking wine and I find that already I am beginning to forget. It’ll come back to me, I know, but just for now…” He smiled, raising his eyes to Thranduil’s, and Thranduil found that he could not look away. “Of course,” said Bard after a little pause, “it might just be the wine, which is much stronger than I am used to.” And he flashed Thranduil a mischievous grin, one that Thranduil could not help but return with a smile of his own.

“I do forget that it is perhaps stronger than might have been available in Lake-town,” he said. “I did not send our best vintage to the Master, and I am sure that he did not share his wine with anyone but himself.”

Bard pulled a face. “Indeed he did not. I cannot say that I am sorry that the dragon’s attack put an end to him.”

“Nor am I,” said Thranduil. “I think I might find the Lord of Dale much more pleasant to deal with than the Master of Lake-town.”

“Oh, don’t,” said Bard with a helpless little laugh. “I am not the Lord of Dale, I was merely in a position to help my people when they needed it. When we are more established we shall hold an election and someone who knows what they are doing can take over.”

Thranduil laughed himself, utterly charmed at Bard’s inability to see the obvious. “There is nobody else more qualified than you,” he pointed out. “Your people know you, they trust you, and they have faith in your ability to lead them, as has been demonstrated over the last few days. Perhaps you do not know the intricacies of leadership, and why should you, for you have never had the opportunity to learn. But your instincts are good, and you have the wellbeing of your people at heart.”

Bard shook his head. “I have no idea what I am doing. All of this was one thing -“ he gestured vaguely around him, “but rebuilding Dale, negotiating with our allies, building a lasting peace? I’m just a bargeman. I haven’t the first idea where to begin.”

“Well, you are doing a very good job of negotiating with this ally,” said Thranduil, letting his amusement and his attraction bleed through into his voice, and was gratified to see a blush beginning to make its way up Bard’s face.

“I don’t think this is that sort of negotiation, though, is it?” Bard said after a moment, and Thranduil had to laugh.

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But you are not alone, and I can advise you if you would like, for I have long experience of leadership, and of dealing with the Dwarves.”

“Thank you,” said Bard. “I will take you up on your kind offer. But - perhaps not tonight?” And the blush was back on his face again, and he was a little unsure, a little nervous, but he did not pull his hand away, and Thranduil reached his fingers a little further up the inside of Bard’s arm, feeling the shiver under his skin again. 

“Not tonight,” Thranduil said softly, and leaned forward just enough, tugging gently on Bard’s arm so that he leaned forward too, just enough, just close enough that it was a matter of an indrawn breath to close the gap between them in a kiss at first soft but soon becoming deeper, harder, more insistent, and the warmth inside Thranduil’s chest sparked and caught fire. 

“We have both lost people, you and I,” murmured Thranduil, before he even really realised he was speaking. “But perhaps for whatever time we have, we can help each other forget.”

“I would like that,” whispered Bard. “I think I need it, and I hope you do too.” And he kissed Thranduil again, sliding his free hand around to cradle the back of Thranduil’s head and curling the fingers of his other hand around Thranduil’s arm, holding on almost desperately. 

Dimly, distantly Thranduil found himself wondering what he was doing, why on Arda he was letting a mortal Man so close inside the ruins of his defences, but he had not felt this way for so long and he did need it, he _did_ , and he had not even realised it until this very moment. Consequences there would surely be, but for the moment he did not care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading, kudosing and commenting - every single one means the world to me and absolutely makes my day! <333


	6. Burning Like Dragonfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire and flame, indeed. Things begin to get a little bit heated.

Bard wasn’t sure whether he was more embarrassed by his attraction to the Elvenking - to Thranduil, he must remember to use his name, even if only in his thoughts - or by his embarrassment over it. He was blushing - _blushing_ , and he a man of forty summers with three children, blushing like a youth trying to court a fair maiden for the first time!

But although Thranduil was no maiden, though fair he most certainly was, Bard thought that in comparison he himself must be only the callowest of youths. Three thousand years ago, Thranduil said he saw his father die, which meant that he must be older even than that, and Bard’s mind could not quite encompass the thought. So there was something else to be embarrassed about, his own comparative youth and inexperience and what in the world did he think he was _doing_?

Then again, he was not the only one doing it, and he was fairly sure he was not the only one enjoying it, either, if the quickening pulse under his fingers at Thranduil’s wrist was anything to go by, or the slight breathlessness when they broke apart, looking into each other’s eyes. Bard shivered, and felt an answering shiver run through Thranduil, and whatever this was, he didn’t want to stop doing it. 

It was an awkward position they were in, leaning across the table, and Bard moved to stand up, although he wasn’t sure where they would go - he did not even begin to dare to think about _thinking_ about where Thranduil kept his bed. He was slower about it than he would have liked - he wasn’t getting any younger and his joints were not at all happy about the strenuous few days they had had, more so than his usual days, fit as he was - but Thranduil rose to his feet in one graceful, fluid, almost uncanny motion and raised Bard up with him, one hand still grasping Bard’s forearm and the other coming around to Bard’s back, pulling him close. Bard looked up at him - and how unusual it felt, to be shorter than someone, especially in this position, his Maudie had been tiny, a little doll of a woman with a mass of golden curls and a ready smile, and he sent her an apology for this, though she was ten years gone, _I’m sorry, love, but you’re not here, and I need someone…I need **him** , he’s so…oh -_

And then Thranduil kissed him again, and all thought of hesitancy was gone, this was something Bard had never felt before, attraction and desperation and desire and _need_ , burning through him like dragonfire, and he brought his hands up to tangle in Thranduil’s long, beautiful hair, and kissed him back with all he had in him.

He was dimly aware of one strong arm about his shoulders, the other around his waist, a hand in the small of his back holding him pinned against the length of Thranduil’s body, and he could feel - well, all right, that made sense, given the situation, and Bard didn’t think he could blush any more than he already was, but at least he wasn’t the only one in this very particular physical state. A soft, gasping moan escaped him, and he was gratified to hear an echo from Thranduil’s lips, as they pulled apart again and stood panting for breath in the middle of the floor - this floor, Bard realised, where just last evening he had been standing bewildered in the negotiations with the Hobbit and the wizard, trying not to look at the Elvenking and trying to cover up the attraction he felt to him. And now, a sunrise and a sunset later and here he was in more or less the very same place with the very same Elvenking in his arms and kissing him as though his life depended upon it. He let out a soft, bewildered laugh at the absurdity of it all, and Thranduil tilted his head, raised one eyebrow. 

“Something is funny?” he asked, and Bard shook his head, grinning sheepishly.

“Only that I didn’t quite expect to end up here, with you, like this, when yesterday I couldn’t take my eyes off you and struggled to concentrate on the matter at hand.”

Thranduil smiled, an amused twist of his lips and a light in his lake-blue eyes. “Then that is where this began,” he said, “because I was most distracted by you.”

Bard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? But - why?”

“There are a whole host of reasons,” said Thranduil, lowering his lashes for a moment. “Your earnest concern for your people, your determination that the situation should not escalate into war, your readiness to negotiate.” Another smile lit his face, considerably more mischievous this time. “Besides, I found you startlingly attractive, and I still do. I wondered how it would feel to hold you against my skin, to kiss you - and other things, too.”

Bard tried very hard not to gape at Thranduil’s words. All right, he could tell that the Elvenking was attracted to him _now_ , but he had thought it had been brought on by the battle and its aftermath, the things he had seen which had opened him to the possibility of closeness with another. But to hear that even last night Thranduil had been looking upon him with desire - that was another matter entirely.

“Well,” he said, “and there was me wondering what all this hair would feel like to touch,” and he drew the fingers of one hand through the soft, silver-white strands, “so much so that I was having trouble following the discussion because I couldn’t stop thinking about what it might feel like, draped across my skin.”

Thranduil’s smile sharpened, from mischievous to intent. “Would you like to find out?” he murmured, and Bard leaned forward again to close the gap between them.

“Yes,” he murmured against Thranduil’s mouth, “very much,” and then he kissed him, hard.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Bard was dimly aware that he and Thranduil were gradually making their way further into the Elvenking’s tent, although most of his attention was taken up by Thranduil’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in Thranduil’s hair. He let out a thoroughly undignified whimpering moan, trying so hard to be quiet because they were _in a tent_ and there were sentries _right outside_ and if everything he’d heard about Elves having particularly sharp hearing was right then they could hear every single thing that happened in here. But he couldn’t quite help himself, this felt so good and it had been more than ten years since he’d - well, since he’d felt the touch of anyone other than himself, and to have the someone else be someone as completely, utterly captivating as Thranduil - he thought he could forgive himself if he was a little bit overwhelmed. 

Thranduil hummed in amusement at Bard’s efforts to quiet himself, easing back just enough to be able to speak. “If you visit me in my home,” he murmured, “you will find that my chambers are far more comfortable than this, and the nearest sentry is three rooms away beyond walls of solid rock.”

Bard hadn’t got anywhere near that far in his thinking, and for a moment he couldn’t quite come up with an answer. “Well, I suppose there will be diplomatic visits,” he said after a few moments, somewhat lamely, and Thranduil laughed. 

“Indeed there will,” he said. “And I hope you will feel inclined to stay a few days. There will be plenty for your children to do and see, and of course we will have much to discuss ourselves.” The tone of his voice left Bard in no doubt as to what they might be discussing, and he let out a shaky laugh.

“You’re going to eat me alive, aren’t you?” he half-murmured, and Thranduil gave him a smile at once delighted and thoroughly mischievous.

“If you want me to,” he said, and when Bard nodded, not quite able to speak, Thranduil pulled Bard with him into the back of the tent, further away from the sharp-eared sentries. He pulled at a cord to one side, and a thick curtain fell, dividing the tent in two and creating a darkened bedchamber. 

Bard glanced around; there wasn’t much here, only a couple of lamps in corners, a chest, a stand holding Thranduil’s armour, and a bed that looked rather more sturdy and comfortable than he had expected - or at least, he hadn’t given much thought to Thranduil’s sleeping arrangements, but he hadn’t expected a bed far more fine and substantial than any he himself had ever owned or slept in. And then the realisation that he was in what amounted to Thranduil’s _bedroom_ sank in and he had to give himself a mental shake before he said anything stupid.

But Thranduil’s hands were at the fastenings of his shirt, and Bard found himself undoing the clasp at the base of Thranduil’s throat and pushing the robe he was wearing back off his shoulders; Thranduil let it fall carelessly to the floor, and Bard felt like he should pick it up and fold it, it was surely too fine for such thoughtless treatment - but then Thranduil was pulling at his coat, his mail shirt, discarding the coat and lifting the mail over his head and dropping it to the floor so that he could finish undoing the buttons down the front of his shirt and then - and then he was smoothing his long fingers over Bard’s bare chest and Bard caught his breath. Time to repay the favour. 

Thranduil was wearing a tunic and undershirt and Bard simply lifted the hems of both together and eased them up until he could get them over Thranduil’s head, and then - he had to pause to stare because honestly Thranduil was like a statue, or a painting in a book, all smooth, pale skin over hard planes of muscle, and Bard was fairly sure he’d never seen anyone or anything more perfect in his life, and he was staring and he should probably - and then he glanced up to see Thranduil looking just as entranced at the sight of him. Which was funny, really, he didn’t think he was anything special, but he was fit, and he had some muscle (not as much as Thranduil, mind, but we can’t all be a perfect Elven warrior), and he supposed that as exotic as Thranduil was to him, he probably was to Thranduil, with his skin still a little tanned from working shirtless in the summer, the dusting of hair over his chest and down his torso, and he scrunched up his courage and placed his hands flat on Thranduil’s chest, smoothed them up over his broad shoulders and down his gloriously toned arms, and then round to his back, pulling him close into another kiss and revelling in the feeling of Thranduil’s soft skin against his own. 

And then Thranduil was pushing him back towards the bed, until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down, kicking off his boots and scooting back up against the pillows as Thranduil advanced relentlessly upon him, until he was half-lying, half-sitting and Thranduil was above him, one hand either side of his shoulders, knees astride his hips, and shaking his hair forward so that it fell like a curtain around them, the ends of it tickling against the skin on Bard’s upper arms. Bard caught his breath and looked up into Thranduil’s face, and what he saw there made his breath catch all over again, because absolutely all of Thranduil’s attention was focussed upon him, and his eyes were filled with warmth and heat at the same time and although Thranduil had been behaving a little like a predator, Bard knew with utter certainty that he was safe here. Thranduil would not hurt him - and he tried to project the same message in return, because he thought that Thranduil was probably not used to anyone much actually caring about him, not at this close proximity anyway. 

“Have you done this before?” Thranduil murmured after a moment, and Bard had to stop and think about it for a moment.

“No,” he said, “well, not properly. There was this lad in Lake-town, when I was seventeen or so, but we never - well, his da was a merchant and he went off trading and I never saw him again. Then after him there was only Maudie, and after her - well. I never wanted anybody else.” He took a deep breath, he’d better make damn sure Thranduil understood him. “Until now.”

Thranduil nodded. “It has been a long time, for me,” he said, and he didn’t specify how long, which was none of Bard’s business, but if it was truly since he had lost his wife then it was a _long_ time. “I do not think a camp bed in a tent in a ruined city surrounded by people who might hear us is an appropriate place to be truly intimate for the first time - or the first time in a long time. But there are other things we can do.” He gave Bard a truly wicked grin and then leaned down to kiss him very thoroughly, and Bard wound his arms around him, scraping his fingers up Thranduil’s back and into his hair and drinking in the soft sound Thranduil made when he did it. 'Other things' sounded utterly wonderful, and if Bard was completely honest with himself he was a little relieved not to be having to do anything for the first time just now, just here. Time enough for those things later, he thought, and in the back of his mind he wondered how this had moved so quickly from ‘not a temporary aberration’ to ‘time enough for more later’; and then he very firmly made himself stop thinking and just focus on the bewitching creature in his arms.


	7. Every Inch The Gentleman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has a crisis of confidence. Thranduil reassures him in no uncertain terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's rating-earning time, kids!
> 
> It's also truckload-of-Feelings-from-out-of-nowhere time. I was as surprised as anyone else. :D

All too soon Thranduil was pulling away and Bard made a soft sound of disapproval, but then Thranduil gave him another sinful smile and began to kiss a trail down his chest, and Bard thought that all right, this was a more than acceptable substitution. Thranduil’s hair slid softly, tantalisingly against Bard’s skin as he made his way downwards, and when he paused to press an open-mouthed kiss over Bard’s nipple, and flick out his tongue, Bard almost had to clap a hand over his mouth to suppress the cry of surprised delight that wanted to make its way out of his throat; but he clamped his mouth shut and caught it just in time, turning it into a soft moan instead, followed by another as Thranduil gave his other nipple the same treatment and then moved down again. 

Thranduil’s intention didn’t fully dawn on Bard until he was almost at the fastenings of Bard’s trousers, and then Bard’s eyes widened as the penny dropped and he summoned his voice from wherever it had disappeared to and very, very reluctantly whispered, “Wait.”

Thranduil raised his head and looked up at him, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Well,” said Bard, feeling tongue-tied and hideously embarrassed, and not at all wanting to stop Thranduil but feeling that the oliphaunt in the tent probably ought to be addressed. “I’m really not sure of the etiquette in these situations,” he managed around a breathless laugh, “but -“

“But what?” Thranduil arched an eyebrow, and Bard forged on, really hoping he wasn’t about to get himself kicked out of the King’s bed. 

“But I’m pretty sure that letting someone who outranks me as far as you do - um - _this_ for me is…probably not proper.”

Thranduil raised the other brow as well, and then burst into laughter, apparently thoroughly amused. “But you forget that I do not outrank you, Lord of Dale, and besides I am doing this of my own free will and because I particularly want to do it, so you do not need to worry about any -“ he paused, still chuckling, “impropriety, as you so charmingly put it.” Shifting and drawing himself back up on the bed so that he could look Bard properly in the eyes, Thranduil became serious again. “If you do not wish me to do this, only say, and I will not do it. But I would like to do it, if you want it, and there is no dishonour and no impropriety in it.”

Bard blinked, feeling a little confused, a little overwhelmed, but mostly deeply, almost terrifyingly certain that he did want this, all of it, everything Thranduil might be willing to give him. “I -“ he said, and then stopped, unsure exactly how to give voice to his feelings. “If you are happy with it, then I am _more than_ happy,” he said eventually. “I am sorry I am such an oaf.”

Thranduil laughed again. “That is the last thing you are. Out of your depth, a little, with the situation you have suddenly found yourself in - and I do not mean with me - and taken by surprise by where you have found yourself this evening - by which I _do_ mean me, and this, here and now - but you have been every inch the gentleman and I am honoured to have you here, like this, with me.”

Bard blinked again, _honoured_? “But I’m - I’m just a scruffy boatman with no money and three motherless children. I have nothing to offer you.”

Thranduil’s smile softened. “You have so much to offer me, which you have in fact already given. Warmth, where before I had only the ice around my heart. Compassion, where none have dared to offer me that for centuries. Desire, where none have awakened such a feeling in me in even longer. I would keep you by my side always, only provided that was where you wanted to be - but you have your duties and I have mine and we will have to work out how we will approach this, between us. But I would like at least to try, if you wish it also.”

Bard’s eyes widened in surprise as he listened - did Thranduil truly feel all this for _him_ , immortal and perfect as he was, and mortal and insignificant as Bard was? And then he had to swallow against a weight in his throat, for suddenly he wanted nothing more. 

“I - I wish that too,” he said. “You - I haven’t the words. I haven’t felt like this since Maudie died, and even then, with her it was different.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I can’t explain it properly, and this is probably absolutely not the time to be talking about my wife, but I owe you an explanation. Maudie was - she was adorable, she was funny and clever and we were so comfortable with each other. But she is gone, and she was so different to you.” He took a deep breath. “You are beautiful, and terrifying, and I want you so much I can hardly bear it. But I want to get to know you, too. And I keep worrying I’m presuming too much, because of who you are, but I - I would really like to be _something_ to you.”

Thranduil did not answer for a moment, but the gentle smile never left his face, and Bard thought he could probably take that as a good sign. 

“You are already something to me,” said Thranduil eventually, “and I would hope you may become more. I will not say ‘everything’ because who knows where the Valar may lead us, but this is certainly no ‘temporary aberration’ as you put it earlier.” His smile sharpened again, becoming just as sinfully wicked as it had been earlier. “And now, with your leave, my Lord of Dale, I would very much like to get back to - how did you put it - eating you alive.”

Bard just looked at him in shock for a few seconds, before letting out a surprised and only slightly embarrassed bark of laughter. “Well, I did say that, I suppose,” he said. “Please, do continue,” and then, as Thranduil slid back down, making sure as much of his skin and as much of his hair as possible came into contact with Bard’s torso, “ _please_.”

And then Thranduil was back at the fastenings of his trousers, long fingers making short work of the buttons, and then he was blowing a breath of cool air over Bard’s suddenly freed arousal, and then - _then_ \- he took Bard into his mouth, slowly and carefully, and Bard tipped his head back with a gasp, that felt so _good_. He slid his hands into Thranduil’s hair again, feeling the soft weight of it between his fingers, and then opened his eyes, looking down to see - _oh_ \- as Thranduil raised his head a little, drawing his tongue around the head of Bard’s arousal, and then took him back in again, hollowing his cheeks and sucking, and this time Bard really did need to clap his hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out. 

Thranduil raised his eyes to meet Bard’s and there was dark amusement and arousal in them, and Bard bit down on his finger against the moan that wanted to escape him at the sight - and then Thranduil did _something_ with his tongue that made Bard almost see stars, and then he had to close his eyes, and just _feel_. It didn’t feel like it had been hundreds of years since Thranduil had last done this, but on the other hand it probably wasn’t something one forgot how to do - but, but - and suddenly it was all almost too much and Bard took his hand away from his mouth. 

“I - if you keep doing that I’ll…” he gasped, and Thranduil flicked his eyes up again, a mischievous light in them, and kept doing what he was doing, and it was all too much and Bard was shuddering, gasping, completely helpless as he fell. Dimly he registered that Thranduil did not take his mouth away, but swallowed him down and then licked him clean, finally letting Bard slip from his mouth with a satisfied sigh. 

“There,” he said; Bard thought he almost _purred_. “I hope that cements our alliance.” 

Bard had to catch his breath before he could speak. “Only partly,” he said after a moment, still breathless. “I believe I also have a part to play. Only I’ve never -“ he broke off, embarrassed again, he and the merchant’s son had in truth never got very far with each other at all.

“No matter,” said Thranduil, sliding up to kiss him softly. “You know how to use your hands, I’d wager.”

Bard laughed. “That I do,” he said, and taking it as an invitation, he shifted to lie on his side, nudging Thranduil to follow suit, and made haste to unlace his leggings, sliding his hand inside and curling his fingers to take Thranduil in hand - this at least he did know how to do, between his experience with the trader’s son and - well, with himself. He stroked from base to head once gently, and then again more firmly, and he placed his free hand between Thranduil’s shoulder blades, pulling him closer and leaning in to kiss him as Thranduil gasped. Just the sound of it made Bard shiver, the thought that he’d done that, made the icy Elvenking make that sound of want and need - and that reminded him of Thranduil’s reaction earlier, when Bard had accidentally touched the tip of his ear. He brought his hand up to the nape of Thranduil’s neck, his other hand still stroking firmly, a flick of the thumb, a very gentle squeeze, and then ran his finger up the edge of Thranduil’s ear to the tip. That earned him a soft intake of breath, Thranduil’s hands flat against his back, pulling him closer, so he tried taking it between finger and thumb and caressing it a little more firmly, and Thranduil gasped, hitching on the barest suggestion of a moan. An idea came to him, and he shifted a little, pulling back and nudging Thranduil to turn his head just enough that he could reach the tip of that delicately pointed ear with his mouth. He ran his tongue around the edge of it, and up to the tip, and Thranduil really did moan then, softly but definitely, and Bard now slid his hand around so that he could run his finger up the other ear while still paying this one attention with his mouth, and all the time his other hand stroking, firmer now and faster, until Thranduil hauled in a shuddering gasp and came apart in his hands, moving his head so that he could kiss Bard hard and deeply. 

“There,” said Bard after a moment, pulling back just enough to be able to speak, “ _that’s_ our alliance cemented.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “That it is,” he said. “for now at least. We might have to re-cement it, perhaps very soon.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say no,” said Bard with a smile, kissing him again, softer this time, almost reverent, and he made to draw his fingertips gently down the left-hand side of Thranduil’s beautiful face, but just as he had in the courtyard outside the great hall, Thranduil took his hand and gently moved it away. “I’m sorry - did I hurt you?” whispered Bard; he had not missed the almost-imperceptible flinch that had crossed Thranduil’s face at his touch.

“No, not really. I have an old injury there, and it is - it is painful, most of the time.” Thranduil lowered his lashes, looking impossibly sad, and Bard frowned, confused, for there was nothing to be seen except perfect, smooth, soft skin, a high cheekbone, a pale blue eye and long dark lashes beneath a dark, angled brow. “I keep it hidden,” said Thranduil after a moment, “and mostly the glamour that hides it dulls the pain, but it is still sensitive to the touch.”

“Oh,” said Bard, crestfallen. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Of course you didn’t know,” said Thranduil, smiling softly. “How could you? I am very careful to hide it, and tell no one unless I absolutely must.”

“Then I won’t touch you there again,” said Bard, and he drew Thranduil close and pressed a kiss into his hair. 

They lay quietly together for a little while, but soon enough soft touches became gentle kisses, fleeting caresses, and Bard grew a little bolder, because his heart could not quite stand the thought of Thranduil being in constant pain; he brushed his lips across Thranduil’s cheek, almost but not quite touching the skin, wanting to show he cared, wanting Thranduil to know he would kiss every inch of his skin if he would let him, but wanting above all not to cause him any more pain. Thranduil closed his eyes, and the smile that warmed his face was genuine, and heartfelt, Bard thought - he hoped. Soon he would have to leave, and go back to his children and comfort them through any nightmares that might disturb their sleep, but just for now he wanted more than anything else to stay here, in this most unexpected place, feeling happier than he had since the day Tilda was born and Maudie died, when his greatest joy and deepest sorrow crashed against each other and upended his life. And he really hoped they could find some way to make this work, between them, when the real world came flooding back in over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what happened here. I was planning for them to get a bit smutty and then have to adjourn to another time because Bard needed to get back to the kids and besides, Thranduil is right, a camp bed is no place for That Sort Of Thing if neither of them has done it in a while/ever, even if it’s a magnificent camp bed, and then in the middle of it all I found myself dealing with a truckload of insecurities and confessions of feelings, from out of absolutely nowhere. I am at the mercy of the muses, I am afraid.
> 
> This chapter (posted 5 September 2020) takes me over 150k words posted to AO3 since June 2020, most of them written in that period too! I don't quite know what's happening, given that before that I'd barely been able to write for years, but the words are just pouring out at the moment and I don't want them to stop. I've spotted a few other people saying that they're having a weirdly productive time of it at the moment, so maybe there's something in the air. In any case, I am happier than I've been in ages and greatly enjoying having the muses talking to me again, so long may it continue!


	8. Until Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has to go back to his children, and Thranduil thinks long and hard about what he is getting himself into.

Eventually Bard shifted in Thranduil’s arms, and Thranduil had to call upon all his reserves of self-control not to tighten his arms about him, never let him go. The gentle, compassionate understanding Bard had shown when Thranduil had explained about his injury had almost broken Thranduil’s composure; he could not quite understand how Bard could hold such reserves of caring and compassion and could draw on them so freely for someone he had only just met. But then there was more to this than a brief encounter between two strangers, Thranduil was sure of it. Just exactly what that was, he did not know, but he could not deny that he had not felt this way in a very long time indeed.

“I’d better be getting back,” said Bard softly after a moment or two, and Thranduil did not think he was imagining the reluctance in his voice.

“You probably should,” murmured Thranduil. “Before I decide to keep you here all night.”

Bard laughed softly. “I don’t want to go. Well, I do want to be with my children, I miss them even now, but - I don’t want to leave you.”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again and laid a gentle kiss upon Bard’s forehead. “I will still be here tomorrow. Go to your children, care for them, comfort them if they dream badly. And perhaps tomorrow we might meet again.” He smiled softly. “After all, we have a great deal of planning to do, both for our people and for ourselves.”

“That we do,” said Bard with a wry smile. “I haven’t the first idea where to begin - with any of it.”

“Begin by sleeping,” murmured Thranduil, kissing Bard’s forehead again, hoping it might smooth out the lines of worry there at least a little. “Then tomorrow we can take stock, and decide where to start.”

“That sounds good,” said Bard, pressing a kiss to Thranduil’s lips. “One step at a time.” He gave another soft laugh. “And I suppose the first step would be to get up and go back to my children, but I am finding that leaving you is the hardest thing I have had to do in a while.”

“Harder than slaying a dragon?” asked Thranduil, amused.

Bard paused to think. “Almost,” he said after a moment. “Although I had help with the dragon-slaying. Bain stood in very ably for the centre of my bow.”

Thranduil smiled. “Then perhaps you should let thoughts of your children help you again here. I will be here tomorrow, and the day after. I will have much to do here before my people can return home. I promise you I will not evaporate overnight.” He kissed Bard again, and then very deliberately made himself take his arms from around him. “Go to your children. I will see you in the morning and then, circumstances permitting, I will kiss you again.”

Bard grinned. “I’ll take that as a promise,” he said, stealing one last kiss anyway and rolling to his feet, refastening his trousers and pulling his shirt and coat and boots back on. He picked up his mail shirt - no point wearing that now that the battle was over - and turned to look down at Thranduil, who was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow and watching him. “Until tomorrow, then,” he said, and Thranduil smiled.

“Until tomorrow,” he echoed. “Now, go.”

“I hear and obey, my King,” said Bard with another grin, and Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“I am not your King. I would be something else entirely to you, but not now.”

“Not now,” said Bard, and he made it sound like a promise. “All right, I’m going.” And he turned and strode towards the curtain which divided the tent, pausing as he lifted it out of the way to look back at Thranduil with a smile so warm and affectionate that Thranduil thought it might possibly have melted the last of the ice around his heart. Then he stepped beyond the curtain and let it fall, and was gone.

Thranduil looked at the curtain for a long while, then he drew in a deep breath and rolled over onto his back, closing his eyes. What had happened to him - what _was happening_ to him? In less than a day his entire existence had been turned on its head, and he hardly knew what to think any more.

Eventually he refastened his leggings, smothering a smile at the thought of how they had come to be unfastened, and fetched his undershirt and tunic from the floor where they had landed, slipping them back over his head again. He noticed that he had not quite ever managed to remove his boots, and could not quite suppress the chuckle that escaped him at that. He had certainly been eager to get Bard into his bed, too eager to think about such a thing as footwear, although he had found it rather charming that Bard had kicked off his own boots, probably thinking it rude to get onto someone else’s bed with them still on.

Moving the curtain out of the way, he went back to his chair and his goblet of wine, refilling it and sitting down; he did not think he would sleep just yet, and besides he wanted to think.

What did he think he was doing, really? What he felt was real, he was fairly certain of that, but it was surely a terrible idea in so many ways. To allow himself to become enamoured of an ally, which would certainly jeopardise relations with the Dwarves, if Dáin ever came to hear of it, not to mention potentially undermining Bard’s position with his own people. And of course the most obvious argument against all of it was the fact that this was a mortal Man who would age and die in no time, while Thranduil still endured, unchanging, until the end of Arda itself. He was not sure his heart could stand such a loss a second time.

Then again, he thought, perhaps it is the price one pays, to live a life which is not loveless, even if only for a short time. He himself had already paid that price once, as had Bard, and Bard likely understood it better than he did, death being part of his everyday life as it was. And what had Tauriel said? That Thranduil’s life was not worth more than those of the Dwarves, because there was no love in it, and no love in him. She had not been quite right - it was there, but frozen, cold, locked away inside him. He had been afraid of the pain it might bring him, the pain he had carried for so long.

And yet now, he thought, there was no pain. The ice was gone and his emotions ran freely again, and although he missed Legolas already and regretted deeply his actions in driving him away, what he felt most on thinking of his son was - love, and pride, and the hopeful certainty that they would see each other again before too long. Where had that come from?

It had been Bard’s gentle words of consolation and reassurance, he thought. Bard had taken his cold, shocked devastation and held it within his hands and warmed it until it had changed into something else, something far easier to bear. And when Bard had spoken of his wife, and his face had lit with the love he clearly still bore for her, it had not roused bitter memories within Thranduil of his own lost love, nor jealousy of one who was not here to defend herself. Rather, it had made him realise that although Auriel was gone, in some way she was still with him, had been waiting deep inside his heart for him to free himself from his grief. 

“Forgive me, meleth-nín,” he whispered. “I have been a coward and a fool.”

No answer came, of course, but he felt a jolt of amusement much like that which he had often felt with her, when she had upbraided him for one thing or another, playfully scolding him until he laughed and caught her up into his arms and kissed her. 

“Will you bless me and guide me now?” he asked her, so softly he was barely speaking aloud. “I know not what I am doing.”

And then the warmth he had felt in Bard’s presence returned, enveloping him, and he could not help but smile. _Perhaps it is worth the pain_ , he thought, _if for even the briefest moment it can warm me and sustain me like this_. However long he had would not be enough, whether it be ten years, a hundred or a thousand, so perhaps what mattered more was to spend that time as well as possible. He thought that it was very likely that Bard would agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary, last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love


	9. Chief Adviser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Sigrid have a chat about things, and Bard attempts to reassure his clever, perceptive daughter about Thranduil's intentions towards him; and Sigrid’s future is set in motion.

Bard crept back into the great hall, picking his way as quietly as he could between the sleeping bodies, until he came to the far corner where his children were bundled up sleeping on the floor, Agnes lying on one of the benches above them. He stretched out on another bench, pillowing his coat under his head, and closed his eyes, although he thought his heart was too full to allow him to fall asleep just yet. 

After a moment, a very quiet whisper caught his attention, and he opened his eyes to see Sigrid, wide awake although Bain and Tilda were both fast asleep, one on either side of her.

“Da, is that you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart. Are you all right?”

“All things considered,” she whispered. “I can’t sleep, though.”

“Neither can I, it seems,” grinned Bard, a little self-deprecatingly, and Sigrid’s eyebrows went up.

“Did your discussions with the Elvenking go well?” she asked, and Bard groaned inwardly, Sigrid had always been particularly perceptive. 

“Well enough,” he said, but he could not quite suppress the smile that wanted to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“What were you talking about?” Sigrid asked, and Bard sighed inwardly.

“Shall we go and sit outside? We don’t want to wake the others.” Carefully he sat up and then stood, offering Sigrid his hand as she disengaged herself from her sleeping siblings and climbed to her feet. She was getting tall now, nearly to his shoulder, and she’d seen her sixteenth summer this year; nearly a woman grown, and it was probably about time he began treating her as such.

They picked their way to the doorway and stepped outside into the ruined courtyard, now lit by the moon, and Bard went to sit on the chunk of stone he’d sat on earlier, patting it for Sigrid to sit down next to him.

“Life is going to be different for us now,” he began, and Sigrid let out a soft laugh that was equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“You don’t say, Da. No more Lake-town, no more Master, no more _fish_. Instead we’ve a city to rebuild and Dwarves and Elves to make allies from. Is that what you were discussing with the King?” She fixed him with a sharp gaze, and Bard sighed inwardly again; too perceptive by far, he feared.

“After a fashion,” he said, and he absolutely could not keep the smile from spreading across his face this time.

“Da! - you didn’t! - did you - are you - ?” gasped Sigrid, eyes wide, and Bard shrugged, still smiling.

“Maybe. Possibly. Sort of. I don’t know.” _But I hope so_ , he thought to himself, _I really, really hope so_.

“But Da, he’s an Elf! And the King!”

“I know, sweetheart. Nobody’s more surprised about it than me.”

“Except maybe me,” she pointed out. “I mean, he’s awfully beautiful, but -“

“But he is who he is, and I am who I am. I know, love, I’m hardly worthy of him. I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.”

Sigrid’s eyes flashed fire, then, Maudie’s temper reborn all over again. “You’re the dragonslayer of Lake-town, the Lord of Dale and you’re my Da, you’re the best man in the world. If anyone’s not worthy of anyone here, _he’s_ not worthy of _you_ ,” she said fiercely, and Bard blinked, but before he could say anything Sigrid was forging on. “Tauriel told me what he said to her, about Kíli. He was horrible to her, he was _cruel_. He drove his son away, too.” The set of her mouth was mutinous, and Bard sighed, outwardly this time.

“I know, sweetheart. He knows it too, and I think he’s seen the error of his ways. I think he had his reasons for how he was and what he said, but he went about it all entirely the wrong way, and now he sees he was wrong.”

Sigrid gave him a Look, one she’d inherited directly from her mother. “You’re not just saying all this because he’s - I don’t know, enchanted you or something?”

Bard couldn’t help a laugh at that. “No, I’m not, sweetheart, and no he hasn’t, or at least, I don’t think he has.” _Not intentionally, anyway_ , he added silently. 

“Well, he’d better not hurt you, otherwise I’ll have something to say about it,” said Sigrid firmly, and Bard slid his arm around her and pulled her close in to his side, biting down his amusement at the thought of his spitfire of a daughter confronting the Elvenking and giving him a piece of her mind.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t think you’ll have to defend my honour. To be honest with you, I think he’s as bewildered by all this as I am. And I - I think he likes me.” He paused, took a breath. “As much as I like him,” he said softly, and he didn’t think he was overreaching himself here, not going by what Thranduil had said when Bard had had his crisis of confidence right in the middle of things.

“Good, because he damn well ought to,” she said, and then, after a moment, more softly, “I think it would be nice for you to have someone, Da. It’s been a long time since Mam died, and you know she’d want you to be happy.”

Bard smiled, and swallowed against the weight in his throat. “I think so too, sweetheart. I never wanted anyone else but your Mam, you know that. But now - well, things are different now, and they’re never going to be the same again.”

“You can say that again,” said Sigrid, and yawned widely. “Look, Da, it’s not up to me, is it, what you do, or who you do it with. But - be careful, won’t you? I don’t want you getting hurt, just because some pretty Elf thought you’d be nice to play with.”

Bard just gaped at her for a moment, where was all this coming from, what had happened to his little girl? “I know, sweetheart,” he said after a moment, buying time, searching for the words to reassure her. “Truly I don’t know what’s going on, between me and him. I don’t know what his intentions are, and I’m not even completely sure what mine are. But I think in some ways he’s a lot like me. All right, he’s very pretty, and an Elf, and a King. But underneath all that he’s just someone who lost his wife, a long time ago, and is maybe just beginning to learn how to feel again. So maybe we’re just learning together.” He paused. “How did you know, by the way?”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “I’m not a child any more, Da. I know what that smile means.”

“What smile?” deadpanned Bard, and Sigrid rolled her eyes again.

“Come off it, Da. That smile that says you think the Elvenking hung the moon for you. You’re going to have to be a bit better than that at covering up your feelings if you don’t want everyone to think you’re getting - you know, special treatment, when the negotiating starts.”

Bard just looked at his daughter for a moment, and then burst out laughing - quietly, so as not to wake anyone. “I’m hereby appointing you my chief adviser, my love. You can keep me in line when I’m messing things up.” He shook his head, still chuckling, and pressed an affectionate kiss into her hair. “You’d probably be better at the job than me. I don’t suppose you fancy being Lady of Dale?”

Sigrid pulled a considering sort of face. “Not yet, I don’t think. You can do it for a bit, and then if you mess it up, or if you don’t want to do it any more, then maybe I can take over when I’m a bit older. If that’s what the people want, of course.” She smiled. “You know, I think that what we should really have is elections, when we’re a bit more settled.”

Bard nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea, sweetheart. I never asked for all this, after all. I’m just a bargeman who hasn’t a clue what he’s doing.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes, and nudged him in the ribs. “And a dragonslayer, and the only decent leader our people have. At least until I grow up a bit more.” She smiled then, her tone softening. “And you’re my Da and the best man in the whole world, like I said earlier. I can’t think of anyone else who’s better qualified for the job.”

“Go on with you,” said Bard, but he pulled her into a hug, and she hugged him back, tightly, fiercely, and he found himself hoping that Maudie knew, somehow, what a fine woman their eldest was becoming.

Eventually they headed back inside, Sigrid wriggling back between her siblings and Bard stretching out on the bench again with his coat as a pillow. Tomorrow the planning could begin in earnest for the rebuilding of Dale, but for tonight, he was glad he had been able to talk with his eldest daughter, and to have been able to confide at least a little of the strange new feelings that had him in their grip. And if, as he drifted off to sleep, he thought of Thranduil’s soft hair, and the feeling of his lips against Bard’s skin, and his strong arms about him - well, he thought he was probably allowed some warmth to see him into his dreams.


	10. If This Is Leadership I Do Not Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard steels himself for the unpleasant tasks ahead of him, and Thranduil offers comfort and advice.

The morning dawned bright and cold, and Bard yawned himself awake to the sound of other people waking, yawning and stretching and talking in low voices. His first thought was to check on his children, but they were all still asleep, even Sigrid, and they had all slept through the night quite peacefully, which was something to be thankful for, although he thought the nightmares would come eventually. 

His second thought was of Thranduil, of how he had looked when Bard had left him last night, lying propped up on his elbow and looking at Bard with his heart in his eyes, or so Bard had thought at the time. He hoped he was right. Recalling Sigrid’s words of caution, he thought that his daughter had a point, he should be careful, but there was something about Thranduil that made him want to throw caution to the wind. Something about how his self-possession masked a deep vulnerability, how he was at once terrifyingly forbidding and deeply sensual, how beneath his chilly exterior he was generous and kind, how he had responded to Bard’s expressions of caring like a man offered water in a desert. Bard thought that he should probably be careful, or he would end up losing his heart entirely to the Elvenking - although he had to admit to himself that in all probability, his heart was already lost.

Satisfying himself that the children would probably sleep a while longer, Bard carefully stood and made his way to the other side of the hall, where Hilda and Agnes were already brewing tea and conducting an animated discussion in low voices about what should be done about breakfast. The Elves’ generous cartload of foodstuffs would not last for ever, and Bard supposed he should probably be thinking about rationing it out, as well as working out where to get further supplies. As well as assessing the safety of the buildings, finding people proper places to sleep, making the city safe, beginning to rebuild. Not to mention the most pressing task, and the one he was dreading the most, which was the sorting and burial of the dead. At the moment they all lay jumbled together where they had fallen, Elves and humans and Orcs, and among the humans were children, too many of them; even one would have been too many but Bard was sure he had recognised some of the faces of his own children’s playmates, much as he had tried not to look while the fighting was going on. _If this is leadership, I don’t want it_ , he thought, as he begged a mug of tea from Hilda and made his way out of the great hall, standing at the top of the steps in the square and gazing out over the awful scenes before him.

“It is not a sight anyone would wish to see,” came a deep, soft voice, and Bard jumped, turning to see Thranduil ascending the steps, only an arm’s length or so away, though Bard had not heard him approaching. Bard suppressed the shiver that wanted to run through him, but he could not help the way his heart turned over, nor could he stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, dire as the situation was.

“That it is not,” he said. “It was bad enough yesterday, but now it is so much worse. I suppose we need to deal with it, but I haven’t the first idea what to do.”

“Burn the Orcs,” said Thranduil. “Make pyres upon the plain. Find yourself a place outside the city walls and away from your water supply to make a burial place for your people. My people, I will bring back to their home.”

Bard blinked, to hear it so simply put; but then again this was not the first time Thranduil had had to deal with the aftermath of a battle.

“I suppose I should round up Percy and the others,” he said after a moment. “Much as I think we all need to rest, this is more pressing.”

Thranduil nodded. “It will be a thoroughly unpleasant day for us all, but this task must be undertaken. My people will help you. They all know what they are doing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Bard. “I feel as though this is more than I should be asking of anyone, but as you say, it has to be done.”

“Cleanse your streets, bury your dead, let your people begin to mourn,” said Thranduil softly. “And when night falls, come to me and I will try to ease your pain.”

“And I yours,” said Bard. “Although I fear I am going to need you terribly by tonight.”

“Then we shall need each other,” said Thranduil, “and give each other what succour we can.”

“I wish I could hold you now,” said Bard as quietly as he could. “But there are too many people around. I really wish you and I were both nobodies, and then no one would care.”

Thranduil smiled, amused. “But since we are not, we must wait.”

“I hate it,” said Bard. “It’s only been a few days and I hate it already. As soon as we can hold elections, I’m holding them.”

Thranduil chuckled. “You do know they will all vote for you, don’t you?”

Bard groaned. “What if I don’t stand, what then?”

“They will vote for you anyway. You slew the dragon, you led them from their burning homes, you brought them to comparative safety. Nobody else has done such things for them.”

“In that case, I cannot wait for Sigrid to grow up a little more. She’s the politician in the family, not me.” Bard had to smile. “My eldest girl, and already she knows more than I do about almost everything. She’s her mother all over again.”

Thranduil nodded. “She seems to have forged a friendship with Tauriel already.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I believe an idea has just come to me. Tauriel must be punished for her defiance, but I do not wish her punishment to be too much of a hardship to her, because she is still dear to me, and she did me a service beyond value when she stood up to me. Do you think you could make use of an Elven ambassador here in Dale, when I must lead my people back to our home?”

Bard raised his eyebrows, surprised, and choosing not to think about Thranduil having to leave. “I should think we could. Sigrid will be pleased, and Bain and Tilda too. Tauriel defended them from Orcs in Lake-town, as did your son, and I believe all three of my children are fond of her. Besides, she is an able warrior and I am sure I will need someone who might be able to help me speak to the Dwarves.” He broke off with a short laugh. “Well. I don’t think Dáin will be inclined to listen to her, but I think she endeared herself to some of the others when she saved Kíli in Lake-town, so I hope they will speak up for her.”

“I think you gained their respect too,” said Thranduil. “Or at least, I should hope so. Although, given the general stubbornness of Dwarves…we shall see.” He smiled. “Now I must go and find Feren and make our plans for the day, and you must see to your children, and find Percy and make your plans. I will see you at nightfall.” He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and his words sent a shiver across Bard’s skin. “And then I will kiss you again, for I have not forgotten the promise I made you.”

“I would like that,” murmured Bard. “Very much.” And then he made himself turn away and go back into the great hall. The children were just stirring as he brought them mugs of tea from Hilda, and he sat with them for a little while, talking softly and attempting to reassure them that they were safe now.

“What will you do today, Da?” asked Sigrid after a while. 

“Well, the first thing we have to do is to clear the streets,” he said. “There are many people who died, and we have to bury them. I think the three of you will probably want to stay out of the way while we do that.”

Tilda nodded silently, her eyes as big as saucers, and Bain wavered, obviously torn between wanting to prove himself and wanting to stay as far as he could from the dreadful scenes outside. Bard was reluctant to puncture the lad’s pride, but then Sigrid stepped in. 

“I want to help you, Da,” she said. “I’m old enough, and I can cope. Bain, will you look after Tilda? I don’t think she needs to see any more of that than she already has, do you, kitten?”

Tilda shook her head, and stretched out her hand to clutch at Bain’s sleeve; the lad subsided and slid his arm around her, drawing her close.

“Are you sure, Sigrid?” asked Bard, not wishing to undermine her but also not wanting to put her through what was going to be a thoroughly horrible experience. 

“I’m sure, Da. Some of the other women are already out there and I know Hilda’s going as soon as she’s finished sorting everyone’s tea out. We’ll lay them out and look after them.” She sounded determined, but terribly young all the same, and Bard had half a mind to forbid her from leaving the hall; but then again, she wouldn’t take it from him, he didn’t think. Maudie wouldn’t have done, after all, and Sigrid was growing more like her mother every day.

“All right, then,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “Bain, Tilda, will you help Agnes look after the other children? Think of some games you can play, stories you can tell. Everyone’s going to be tired and scared, and they’ll need a bit of quiet entertaining.”

Bain and Tilda nodded, and fell to talking in whispers of games they might play and stories they could tell, and Bard and Sigrid finished their mugs of tea and spoke briefly to Agnes, telling her of their plans, before going in search of Percy and Hilda. There was so much to be done, all of it unpleasant, and Bard was dreading the day ahead of him; but at least when it was over he would be able to go to Thranduil and share his pain. And in the meantime, he had something to think of, to keep him going. The thought of Thranduil, his burning kisses and gentle touches, the soft sounds he made when Bard did something that gave him pleasure; that would sustain him until nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	11. Sorrow Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has had a really horrible day; Sigrid gives her father her blessing, and Bard and Thranduil attempt to comfort each other.

By the time the sun set, Bard was exhausted and sick at heart from all he had seen. The stench of burning Orcs floated up from the plain, filling the city, and the digging of a mass grave for the dead of Lake-town - of Dale, now, he supposed - had begun on a site outside the walls, away from the river that enclosed the city on three sides. The women had laid out as many of their dead for burial as they could, although there was no linen for shrouds and everything of use had to be salvaged from the corpses. Tomorrow the burying would begin, and once it was done there would have to be some sort of ceremony.

But Bard could not quite bring himself to think of that yet. He would have to come up with something to say, stirring words to pay tribute to their dead and to help his people put their sorrow behind them and move on, but not yet. 

He met Sigrid on the way back to the great hall, and she looked tired and sad but her voice was steady when she greeted him, and when he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close she hugged him back with fierce but gentle determination. 

“Da, it’s so sad,” she murmured. “People we knew - the children. They should never have been in the way of - of _that_. I know it couldn’t be helped, the way it turned out, but oh -“ She took a deep breath. “I won’t tell Bain and Tilda who I saw today. Not until they’ve had a chance to recover. They knew some of them.”

Bard hugged her tight and kissed her hair. “You’ve all been so brave, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“But here it is, and here we are, and we just have to get on with it,” said Sigrid, and squeezed him round the waist. “Come on, let’s go and make sure the children are all right.” She stepped back, grinning up at him. “And then I suspect you’ve got somewhere you’d like to be, haven’t you?”

“Give over, love,” Bard protested, but only half-heartedly. 

“Don’t try and deny it,” said Sigrid. “You go, once we’ve seen to the little ones. I saw Tauriel earlier and she said she would come to us when she’s finished what she’s doing, so she and I can keep an eye on Bain and Tilda. So if you happened to want to stay away all night, don’t worry about us.”

“When did you get to be so grown up?” asked Bard, and Sigrid grinned again.

“It’s been happening for a while, you know, Da,” she said. “And then the last few days have rather had an effect. Honestly, Da, we’ll be fine. I should think you could do with a night in a bed that’s more comfortable than that bench you slept on last night, anyway.”

“Cheeky,” said Bard, deciding that there was probably no point in denying where he was likely to end up this evening.

“But right,” said Sigrid firmly. “Come on.” And taking his hand, she tugged him through the streets until they reached the great hall. 

Bain and Tilda had spent the day telling tales and playing games with the other children, and by the time Bard and Sigrid found them they were all looking more than a little sleepy. Agnes also looked exhausted, and Bard sent her off to get some tea and to sleep; Sigrid and Tauriel could keep an eye on the children. 

Tauriel slipped into the hall a little while later, and she and Sigrid began to settle the little ones. Sigrid gave Bard a significant look, and he decided he could probably leave them to it, so he kissed Tilda and Bain goodnight, hugged Sigrid again, and then made his way out of the hall, stealing through the streets in the darkness as he had done the night before. 

The sentry outside Thranduil’s tent recognised him and drew the tent-flap back for him without a word, and he stepped into the tent to see Thranduil sitting at the table with a goblet of wine in front of him, staring at nothing. Bard went straight to him and knelt by his chair, wrapping his arms around him, and after a moment Thranduil leaned into his embrace, resting his head on Bard’s shoulder. 

“It gets no easier,” Thranduil murmured eventually, “even after thousands of years.”

“No,” said Bard softly, “I don’t suppose it does. So many of our people, gone before their time, and it must be so much worse for you, because your people don’t _have_ a time.”

“It is bitter indeed,” said Thranduil, “but for you, for your people, who only have a finite time, to have even that taken from them.” He sighed. “There were children, were there not?”

“There were,” said Bard, “and Sigrid says some of them were friends to Tilda and Bain. I don’t know how I’m going to tell them.” His voice wavered a little, and Thranduil tightened his arms about him. 

“Would you like some wine, or will you come and lie down with me and share our sorrow?” he murmured, and Bard paused a moment to consider.

“I think,” he said after a moment, “I would very much like to just lie down with you and hold onto you and try to forget everything I have seen today.”

“Then let us do that,” said Thranduil, and he rose to his feet, raising Bard up with him. Lacing his fingers through Bard’s, Thranduil led Bard to the back of the tent again, and pulled the cord that dropped the curtain, separating them from the world. Slowly they lay down on the bed, fully clothed this time although Bard kicked his boots off again. Such a fine bed, it would be almost a crime to dirty it with his heavy, ancient boatman’s boots. 

Thranduil settled himself back against the pillows and drew Bard up to lie alongside him, slipping his arms around him and holding him close, drawing his fingers through Bard’s hair, working out the tangles that had knotted it during the day. Bard rested his head on Thranduil’s chest and closed his eyes, just for a moment, enjoying the sensation of someone else’s hands in his hair; it had been such a very long time.

“It’s strange,” he murmured after a while, “we’ve known each other, what, two days, three? And yet I already feel as though I would trust you with my life.” _And my heart_ , he thought to himself, but he was not quite ready to admit that to Thranduil, not yet.

“If the battle had not gone the way it did, I would never have allowed you close to me,” said Thranduil softly. “But I am glad that I did. I am beginning to understand that isolating myself as I have done has only increased my pain, rather than easing it.”

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” said Bard, “but if in any way I can help you bear any of it, I will do so, and gladly.”

“And I will help you bear your burdens, if you will let me,” murmured Thranduil with a small smile. “I know a little about some of them, after all, though some are beyond my experience.”

“Then I hope we have a personal alliance, as well as one between our two peoples,” said Bard. “I find I - I like you, very much. I know I’m -“ he broke off, searching for the right words, but Thranduil cut him off.

“I will not have you speaking ill of yourself,” he said. “Our respective origins or stations in life have nothing to do with what is between us. You are the first person to venture so close to me, to bring me the warmth I had not realised I needed, in many long centuries, and I want no barriers between us. In public we will have to be careful, but in private I am just Thranduil and you are just Bard, and we are - we are seeing what this might become, between the two of us.”

Bard nodded. “All right,” he said, and then he smiled. “Sigrid guessed that we were - that there was _something_ between us. She was still awake when I got back last night.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “And -?”

“And she was most concerned for my honour, and mindful of your - ah - reputation,” said Bard delicately, although he was also trying to suppress a chuckle. “I reassured her that I thought your intentions towards me were honourable, as mine are towards you. But don’t be surprised if she gives you a talking-to before you leave.”

“Should I be worried?” asked Thranduil, his voice heavy with amusement, and Bard did laugh then.

“She’s a little spitfire, my Sigrid, but once she’s reassured herself you’ll have a friend for life in her. She’s the image of her mother.” Bard shook his head a little, smiling. “You’ll find no defender more steadfast than Sigrid.”

“Then you are truly lucky to have her for a daughter,” said Thranduil. “And your other children?”

“Bain and Tilda. They’ve all inherited their mother’s spirit, but they’ve yet to grow into it, quite. Bain is good with a bow, and will be better with time; and Tilda loves stories and new people. They’re brave as soldiers, my little ones. Though they’re not so little any more, any of them.” He shook his head. “Time does fly.”

“Even when you have so little of it?” Thranduil paused, realising what he had said, Bard supposed. “Forgive me; that was a little blunt. I have not - I have not had much in the way of dealings with mortals for a long time.”

“It’s all right,” said Bard. “I hadn’t expected you to. But yes, even when we have so much less time than you, it still flies by. It seems like only yesterday I was nineteen, twenty, and fooling around with Maudie. Now she’s ten years gone and our oldest is sixteen and I’ve seen forty summers.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be old and gone before you know it.”

“I know,” said Thranduil softly, sadly. “All the more reason to make the most of the time we have, do you not think?”

“Are you sure?” Bard shifted so that he could look Thranduil full in the face. “Are you sure you want to do this, to put yourself through it again? I mean, I’m not presuming I could ever be to you anything like what your wife was, but -“

Thranduil lowered his lashes, drew in a breath, then another, and then he opened his eyes again and fixed Bard with a gaze of such earnestness that it nearly took Bard’s breath away. “I am sure. I cannot say what you will mean to me but I already know I cannot simply let you go. Whatever this is, between us -“ he placed his hand flat on Bard’s chest, over his heart, “it is already too strong for me to deny it.” He took another breath, deeper this time, drawing it in and then letting it out slowly. “And I would rather have it for a short time and then lose it, than never have it at all and retreat behind my walls again.”

“Oh,” said Bard, and then, “ _oh_ ,” again, as Thranduil’s words began to sink in. “I - in that case, I think I would like to claim that kiss you promised me, last night.” And he tilted his head a little, just enough that he could brush his lips against Thranduil’s, gently at first, softly, reverently, but then more definitely, more confidently, his heart singing. _He wants me, he wants me, though I will grow old and die, he still wants me_. And it would be strange, and complicated, and difficult, but he did not care. All he wanted, besides safety and happiness for his children, was to see where this might lead him, and to hold on to Thranduil and never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	12. I Am Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard distract themselves from all they have seen, for the time they are given, at least.

Thranduil breathed deeply, calming his heart, which was beating like that of a frightened rabbit. He had spoken his feelings, he had put them into words and made them real, and Bard had not been afraid, had not been put off; he had simply claimed the kiss Thranduil had promised him, and had not questioned Thranduil’s decision. He likely did not entirely understand the weight of it, but he had clearly been thinking about it, and - again, Thranduil could not help thinking - he had seen the potential for hurt and had offered compassion, thinking of Thranduil before he thought of himself. _What have I ever done to deserve this unquestioning warmth and affection? Is this redemption for how I have behaved for so long - or is it rather an opportunity to learn how to earn that redemption?_

“I think perhaps I should kiss you again,” he said against Bard’s lips, and felt Bard’s answering chuckle as he suited the action to the word; not that he had really stopped kissing him, but what were details, here? Just for now, this was enough, Bard’s soft lips and the gentle scratch of his beard - Thranduil had never before in his life considered that facial hair might be attractive but somehow on Bard it _was_ \- and the almost tentative touch of his tongue as Thranduil opened for him, drawing him in, sliding one hand round to cradle the back of his neck and hold him close. This was enough, it was _everything_.

And yet he wanted more. This was still not the place or the time for true intimacy, but nevertheless he hungered for that connection, that warmth, and for the sensation of Bard’s skin against his own, the soft sounds he made - he wondered already how it would be, when they were truly able to be free with each other, but for now he must content himself with this, little as it was, but still far beyond anything he had dreamed of, when he had left his home and ridden for the Lonely Mountain, all his thoughts fixed solely on retrieving the white gems that he had once intended to give to his wife.

One-handed, he began unfastening the buttons down the front of Bard’s shirt - a rough, homespun affair with simple horn buttons, and the thought occurred to Thranduil that the people of Dale would need clothing before the winter, for they had all surely escaped the destruction of Lake-town with only the things they stood up in. He made a mental note to return to the subject later, with Feren, and then set it firmly aside, continuing to unbutton Bard’s shirt with one hand, and stretching the fingers of his other hand into Bard’s hair, holding the back of his head still and kissing him deeply. He let his hand stray across Bard’s chest, fingers fluttering over the dusting of hair there, so exotic, so intriguing, so alluring. One finger circled a nipple, feeling it contract under his touch, and Bard gasped into his mouth, untangling his hands from Thranduil’s hair - and Thranduil was only just discovering how much he was enjoying Bard’s fascination with his hair - and hastening to the fastenings of his tunic, the hem of his undershirt, pushing and pulling at them with sudden urgency. Thranduil responded in kind, suddenly almost overcome with need; to feel Bard’s skin against his, to give him comfort, to distract himself from the images in his head of the things he had seen over the past two days. He shifted so that they could both rid themselves of their shirts and then drew Bard back in against him, closing his eyes for a moment to savour the sensation, the warmth.

“I want you so badly,” whispered Bard, smoothing his hands over Thranduil’s chest; if he felt the scar tissue there, covered by the glamour but still discernible to the touch, he gave no indication of it. The scarring was much slighter there, for the dragonfire had caught Thranduil full in the face, for one agonising moment, and only its edges had flickered over his shoulder, his upper arm, the top of his chest; and it did not hurt, unlike his face, which even now, hidden beneath the glamour, bore a persistent ache.

“I am yours,” murmured Thranduil, and he meant it. He had no idea where this had come from, where it would lead them, but he found that he wanted it more than anything. Pressing a kiss to Bard’s mouth, lips parted, he let his hands wander lower, carefully undoing the fastenings of Bard’s trousers and pushing them down; last night had been for getting to know each other, a first encounter, but tonight he wanted to feel all of him, the whole length of his body, everything that their current situation would allow. Bard hesitated for just a fraction of a second before he moved to repay the favour, unlacing Thranduil’s leggings and peeling them away, stopping when he got no further than the tops of Thranduil’s knee-high boots, which he was still wearing.

“Oh,” he murmured, and then sat up a little, shuffling down the bed still half-in and half-out of his trousers, wriggling them down and kicking them off his feet onto the floor, and then turning his attention to Thranduil’s boots. Carefully he unlaced one and then the other, and then eased them down, smoothing his hands almost reverently down over Thranduil’s knees, his calves and shins, over his feet, and then giving the leggings the same treatment. He dumped everything off the end of the bed, and then crawled back up, drawing his body alongside Thranduil’s and coming to settle next to him, shifting so that they were firmly pressed together and sliding one arm over Thranduil’s back to hold him in place. Thranduil did not even try to suppress the shudder of pleasure that ran through him at the contact, and felt an answering shiver as Bard tilted his head up to kiss him again.

Thranduil arched his back, bringing them into yet closer contact, catching his breath against the sensations and placing the flat of his hand at the small of Bard’s back, holding him firmly in place as he rolled his hips. He swallowed Bard’s resulting moan, sliding his tongue against Bard’s and holding on to him, holding tight as they moved together, for this was the only thing in the world now, all else was forgotten, only the slide of sweat-slicked skin and Bard’s hard body against his own, and Thranduil tipped his head back, gasping, and Bard began to kiss along the right-hand side of his jawline, down his neck and back up again, round to his ear, and then Thranduil had to bite back a cry of sheer, helpless pleasure. That Bard had discovered the sensitivity of his ears and seemed determined to make the most of the knowledge was at once a source of amusement and of delight, and perhaps he was not enormously experienced but he was a fast learner and enthusiastic with it, and Thranduil thought _oh, I could delight in him until the end of time_ ; but if they were not to be permitted such indulgence then he would take what little they were given and delight in it anyway.

Curling his fingers slightly in the small of Bard’s back, gripping tighter, he brought his other hand up to smooth over Bard’s upper arm, scraping lightly with his fingernails, tracing the line of muscle there and sensing the strength borne of many years of hard labour; and to be held with such strength, almost equal to his own, that was an arousing sensation in itself and Thranduil rolled his hips again, shuddering as Bard mirrored the action, almost helpless now in the face of what they were building together, and he slid his hand round from Bard’s arm to his back, drawing his fingernails down and back up again, tangling his hand in the hair at the nape of Bard’s neck as he flung his head back, gasping, so _close_ , and then shifting, seeking Bard’s lips almost frantically for a kiss to drown his cries as he let himself go, shivering with the intensity of his release and swallowing Bard’s answering cry as he, too, reached his peak and fell. 

They clung to each other, shivering and breathing hard, for a long moment, and Thranduil had to wonder, _if it is like this now, what will it be like when we have real privacy, how will it be when we are able to join fully?_ He rested his forehead against Bard’s and closed his eyes and let himself imagine, just for a moment. 

Eventually they shifted, needing to reposition themselves, and Thranduil reached for a cloth to clean them, pitching it onto the floor when he was done, and settling back against the pillows, drawing Bard to lie back against his chest. 

“I don’t have to go back, tonight,” said Bard quietly after a moment or two. “I mean, unless you’d rather I did.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “I would keep you here always if I could. Of course I want you to stay.”

Bard gave a relieved little sigh. “I’m pleased to hear it, because I really don’t want to go.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Sigrid gave me permission to stay with you all night; she said she and Tauriel would look after the children, and she was sure I’d rather be here. I feel like she’s the parent suddenly, and I’m the wayward youngster sneaking off to be with his sweetheart.” He fell silent, then, and Thranduil could almost hear him regretting his choice of words.

“Is that what I am?” he asked, letting his amusement colour his voice, not above a little bit of teasing. 

“Probably not the most accurate word I could have used,” said Bard, a little sheepishly, “but I suppose you could be if you wanted to be.”

Thranduil smiled, delighted, and pressed a kiss into Bard’s hair, letting his fingers smooth the unruly waves a little. “I think I would like that very much. I have never been anybody’s - _sweetheart_ \- before.” He felt Bard’s curiosity, his unwillingness to ask a sensitive question, and smiled again. “Auriel and I were betrothed by our fathers. We grew to love each other quite deeply, but we were never sweethearts, or at least, not in the sense of sneaking away from our parents to be with each other. Or,” he laughed again, “from our child.”

“Maudie and I did a good bit of sneaking, before I got up the courage to ask her da for her hand. And now here I am sneaking around again.” Bard traced his fingers up and down Thranduil’s arm, very lightly, and brushed a kiss across Thranduil’s collarbone, breathing him in as he did so.

Thranduil could hear the smile in Bard’s voice as he spoke of his wife, and it drew another smile to his lips. Doubtless his Auriel and Bard’s Maudie had been very different, but he could not help hoping that they would both approve of their husbands finding some happiness with each other, in their absence.

“So instead of your father’s approval, it will be Sigrid’s that I must seek, if I am to be your sweetheart?” asked Thranduil after a moment, amused again, and Bard shifted a little in his embrace so that he could look up at him, a smile in his eyes. 

“I think she already approves,” he said. “Bain and Tilda might take a little more convincing, but Sigrid is old enough to understand, and she has seen enough of people losing their loved ones. She said she thought her mam would want me to be happy.”

“And do you think that, too?”

“I do. I never had chance to say goodbye to her, but if I’m honest I think she’d have something to say to me about going ten years without finding someone to light my life again, if she knew.” He sighed softly, and leaned up to press a kiss to Thranduil’s lips. “I never wanted anyone else, I had my children, and my memories of her, and they were enough for me. But then there you were, and I wasn’t quite sure what had hit me. I’m still not sure, but I can’t give this up now, I can’t give _you_ up.” Another sigh, another kiss. “I’m not looking forward to you leaving.”

“Neither am I,” admitted Thranduil. “But needs must, and I shall not be all that far away. Besides, our negotiations with each other and with the Dwarves will not be concluded before I will have to go. After the winter there will be plenty of opportunities for us to be together again, and I will insist that you visit me in my home as soon as the snows have melted.”

“Diplomatic visits,” said Bard, smiling. “I like the sound of that.” He shifted a little, and then stifled a yawn behind his hand, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just been…oh, it’s been such a long day, and the day before that, and the day before. I want to lie awake with you all night and talk, and kiss you, and - other things, but I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“No matter,” said Thranduil. “I am weary too. Sleep, and come back to me tomorrow night and we will do the same again, and every night until I have to leave, as long as Sigrid is willing.” He smiled, and kissed Bard’s mouth and then his forehead, settling him close so that he could sleep.

Thranduil himself lay awake for a while, musing quietly to himself. He had not expected to find such happiness amid such despair, but he had lived long enough to know that the Valar moved in mysterious ways, and he would not question them, not when they had brought him something so precious and so unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	13. I Will See You After Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard tears himself away from Thranduil and sneaks back to the great hall in the pre-dawn twilight; and Sigrid gives him a talking-to about not feeling guilty for doing something for himself for once.

Bard awoke late in the night - or early in the morning, he was not sure. The tent was not as dark as it had been, and he thought that outside the sky was probably lightening in the grey pre-dawn twilight. He should be getting back, he knew, otherwise he would be seen leaving the Elvenking’s tent by people other than Thranduil’s sentries (and he could only hope that they were discreet), and then - well, and then gossip would spread like wildfire, and he was not sure what his people would think of him consorting with an Elf, let alone their King, and in the aftermath of such a terrible battle. It was possibly inappropriate, probably unseemly, and very definitely not proper.

But he could not quite bring himself to move, not yet. He wanted to lie a while longer in Thranduil’s sure, strong embrace, feel Thranduil’s skin against his own, Thranduil’s soft hair as it draped across his shoulder and his arm. Instinctively he burrowed a little closer into Thranduil’s arms, tucking his head under Thranduil’s chin and pressing a kiss to the hollow between his collarbones. 

“Good morning,” murmured Thranduil, and Bard smiled against his skin.

“Is it?” he replied. “I was rather hoping it was still night-time. I am not ready for the morning, not just yet.”

“The morning will not give you much choice in the matter,” said Thranduil, and Bard could hear the smile in his voice, “but I will gladly keep you here a while longer.”

“This is how it’s always going to be, isn’t it?” said Bard quietly after a moment. “I’ll always be thinking that I don’t want to go. But our time together will always be short, and over too soon.”

“You could perhaps come and live in the Woodland Realm, when you have lost your election to Sigrid,” said Thranduil, still smiling. “Only I think you would miss your children terribly.”

Bard nodded. “But all too soon they’ll be grown up and they won’t need their old Da any more. Nor will the people of Dale.” He grinned. “You ought to be careful, or I’ll be taking you up on that offer.”

“I would not have made the offer if I did not mean it,” said Thranduil. “I know it is soon to be saying such a thing, but we will have time yet to get to know each other before you would be able to make that decision.”

“I could make it at this very moment,” said Bard. “If it weren’t for - well, everything - I’d drop everything and come back to the forest with you now. Only I’d have to bring the children.”

“They would be just as welcome,” said Thranduil, and he tilted Bard’s chin up so that he could kiss him.

Bard let his eyes fall closed, and he made himself stop thinking about everything that would be waiting for him as soon as he stepped out of the tent. All of that could wait. The only thing that mattered in this moment was _this_ , Thranduil’s arms around him, Thranduil’s lips against his, the touch of his tongue sending shivers all down Bard’s spine and making him arch helplessly forwards, perhaps - _oh_ , they would have to be quick, or he’d get caught sneaking out for certain, but Bard could not quite bring himself to care.

Later - possibly later than might have been wise - once Bard had got his breath back, he kissed Thranduil one last time and then very reluctantly slid out of his embrace, getting to his feet and pulling his clothes back on, and his boots, and last of all his coat. For a brief time he had felt almost equal to Thranduil, when they had both been naked and there had been no reminders of his station in life, but now, back in his old, scruffy, much-mended clothes, he felt insignificant again, no matter that Thranduil was looking at him like - Sigrid’s words from the previous night came back to him - like he’d hung the moon. Well, he supposed it made it easier for him to blend into the background, which he was going to need in a moment. 

He could not quite resist the temptation to go back over to the bed and lean down to give Thranduil one last kiss. “I’ll see you after sunset,” he said, and Thranduil smiled and drew one finger down the side of his face, as if committing it to memory. 

“The thought will sustain me all day,” he said. 

“Me too,” said Bard, and then he made himself step away again before he got drawn back in. 

He took a roundabout route back to the great hall, so that if anyone challenged him he could say that he had been up early and gone for a walk to look at the state of the city. It was better than yesterday, for certain, but still the bodies of the dead littered the streets, and they were all in for another day’s hard, heartbreaking work. 

Sigrid gave him a knowing look when he entered the hall, and he rolled his eyes and smiled at her from a distance, scooping up mugs of tea and a loaf of bread from Agnes on his way over to greet his children. Bain and Tilda were awake and yawning, and Tauriel was brushing Tilda’s hair for her. 

Bard distributed the tea and the bread and sat down on the bench for a few moments, tearing off a piece of bread for himself almost as an afterthought. 

“Where did you go, Da?” asked Tilda after a little while. “I woke up in the night and you weren’t there.”

Bard paused, the piece of bread halfway to his mouth, and a sudden cold wave of guilt crashed over him. His youngest had wanted him, and he hadn’t been there because he had been indulging his own selfishness. 

“I’m sorry, kitten,” he said, casting about frantically for a plausible explanation that would not give everything away. “There’s so much to see to, just now. Did you have a nightmare?”

Tilda shook her head. “I just woke up. But Tauriel sang me a song until I fell asleep again.” She smiled up at the she-Elf, who returned the smile with what looked like genuine affection.

“Thank you, Tauriel,” said Bard. “I’m sorry, Tilda, I should have been there when you needed me.”

Sigrid glanced up from her seat on the floor, and gave him a look. “You’ve got plenty to be doing, Da. You don’t need to be worrying about us all the time as well. We’re all right, because we’re together, and we can look after each other. Maybe it’ll be different when everything’s a bit more settled, but for now, you’re going to be busy a lot, and you are not going to feel guilty about it.” Her tone was firm and no-nonsense, and Bard considered protesting, but thought better of it. 

“I’ll make it up to you, kitten,” he said to Tilda instead. “To all of you, when things are settled. I know you’re used to having me around.”

“Not always,” said Sigrid. “You were often gone on the barge, remember? And we managed then. We’ll manage now.” She glanced at Bain and Tilda, both of whom nodded, and Bard sighed. 

“All right. Well, things will be different from now on, anyway. We’ll all have lots of new things to adjust to.”

“Lots of things to help with, too,” said Sigrid, “once the streets are clear. We’ll have to work out where we want to live, for a start.”

Both Bain and Tilda brightened at that, and Bard tried to let go of his guilt at abandoning them. He was not particularly successful, and when he and Sigrid and Tauriel left the children to return to their duties, Sigrid held him back when Tauriel went to join her people. 

“Don’t you dare feel guilty about this, Da,” she said fiercely. “This is the first time you’ve done something completely for yourself, probably since before all of us came along. You need it, and you deserve it, and I’m not having you giving yourself a hard time over it.”

“You three are my first responsibility, Sigrid,” he protested, “and I should have remembered that.”

“We’ve got each other, Da. I can look after Bain and Tilda, and Tauriel is happy to help, she likes them. I think we’re doing her a favour, actually, taking her mind off what happened to Kíli. Honestly, Da, we’re all right.”

“You’re sure? It’s asking a lot of you, sweetheart, and it’s something I never should have asked.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Da. I could have had children of my own by now. Keeping an eye on those two is much easier.”

Bard shook his head. “Don’t remind me, love. I suppose you’ll be married and gone with a brood of your own before too long.”

Sigrid snorted. “Not me. What use would I have for marrying? Anyway, it’s not as though there’s anyone much to choose from around here. No, Da, I don’t want to marry, and I don’t want children. I just want to do something useful with my life.”

“I’d have said your mam did something pretty useful with her life,” Bard pointed out, and Sigrid shook her head.

“I’m not saying that’s not useful, Da. I’m just saying it’s not for me. I want to do something else. I want to help people. I want to get to know people from other places. I want to see inside that mountain, and I want to see the Woodland Realm.”

“Well, you might get a chance at that,” said Bard, a little sheepishly. “We might have been invited to visit, after the winter.”

Sigrid gave him a delighted smile. “There you go, Da. You’ll be able to take us somewhere completely new. We’ll be moving in different circles now, and it’ll bring us different opportunities. And I think if this one makes you smile like it does, you ought to be seizing it with both hands.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he caught her up in a brief, tight hug. “And now I should be off to join the others, because there are so many people still to lay out, and I want to get this part over with as quickly as we can.”

“So do I, love,” said Bard, “so do I,” and he watched her go with a smile on his face. She really was remarkable, his eldest girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	14. We Honour Our Dead And We Mourn Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Dale bury their dead, and drink to their memory. The Bardlings make some friends and allies when Balin and Bofur attend the ceremony, and they all begin to plan what must come next: the rebuilding of Dale.

The days and nights fell into a sort of routine after that: hard, backbreaking, heartbreaking work during the days, first the clearing of the streets, then the burial of the dead, and then the long, slow process of surveying the city’s buildings, determining which were safe and which were not, which could be made safe and which were better off demolished and rebuilt. And then at nightfall, Bard would settle the children and steal away to Thranduil’s tent, where they would get to know each other a little more every night, begin to learn each other’s bodies and what little things brought each other pleasure. 

A few days after the battle, the funerals of the Dwarven King and his nephews took place in the Lonely Mountain. The people of Dale and of the Woodland Realm were not invited, but they stood in ranks upon the city walls nevertheless, as a mark of respect, and Percy blew the great horn that still leaned upon the wall, and still made a sound, even after nearly two hundred years. It had had to be tested, of course, before the occasion, and the noise it made had given everyone the fright of their lives. 

And a few days after that, the burying of the dead of Dale was completed. Bard stood on the part of the city wall nearest to the burial ground and addressed everyone gathered below, Sigrid at his side. The Elves were off to one side, Thranduil at their head, and Bard had to make every effort not to let his gaze stray to the Elvenking’s bright figure, against the drab clothing of the people of Dale and the greens and browns of the Elves’ garb. Dáin had, it appeared, sent a couple of Thorin’s company - one of the greybeards and the one with the sheepskin hat, Bard was still having trouble keeping track of their names - to represent Erebor, and Bard was pleased by that. Hopefully it showed that Dáin was serious about forging an alliance, with Dale at least, if not with the Woodland Realm.

“I haven’t much to say,” he said, “except that we honour our dead, and we mourn them. They should not have died; we should not have been here. But what has happened has happened, and now we must rebuild Dale in a way that gives honour to those who gave their lives in a battle they had never expected to see. We must give ourselves and our children a better life here than we had in Lake-town, and I hope we will be able to do that with the help of our honoured guests.” He gestured with one hand to Thranduil and his Elves, and with the other to the representatives from Erebor, being careful not to point one out before the other. “But not today. Today, we mourn our dead, and drink to their memory. Tomorrow, we rebuild.” Then he stepped back a bit, to indicate that he had finished speaking, and a smattering of applause rippled through the assembled crowd, before everyone dispersed, realising that the formalities were over. 

Bard sank back against the stonework, suddenly exhausted, and Sigrid slipped her arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. Glancing down, he caught Thranduil’s eye, and watched as Thranduil made the barest suggestion of the Elven salute, a slight incline of the head, a tiny movement of his hand, towards his heart and then away again; and the warmth in his eyes, just briefly, that said he would see Bard later. Bard nodded, let the same warmth fill his eyes, and then looked away as Thranduil’s distant, regal demeanour fell over him again like a cloak. 

“Come on, Da,” said Sigrid. “There’s ale and bread in the main square and everyone will expect you to be there. At least for a little while, and it’ll be nice to just sit down for a while.”

Bard chuckled despite himself. “You’re far too young to be saying that. Me, on the other hand, I would love to sit down for a while with a mug of ale. Come on, then, let’s find Bain and Tilda.”

The children were waiting for them at the foot of the steps down from the wall, and all four of them headed off to the main square outside the great hall, where Hilda, Agnes and some of the other women had organised tables and benches from somewhere, barrels of ale that some enterprising soul had fetched back from the ruins of Lake-town, and bread and soup made from some of the last of the Elves’ supplies. They would have to go back to Lake-town to forage for anything else that might have survived, Bard thought to himself, and begin to see about negotiating with Dáin for the payment of the gold Thorin had promised before the madness had taken hold of him, and then begin to see about trading for supplies with…he wasn’t sure who. Other than the Elves, and Bard did not feel he could take advantage of Thranduil’s generosity a second time - nor did he feel it would be proper, given the nature of his relationship with Thranduil now, to trade on that relationship.

Sigrid fetched mugs of ale - watered down for Bain and Tilda, unadulterated for herself and Bard - and they found a spot at the end of one of the tables, clustering together. Tilda climbed up into Bard’s lap and he put his arms around her, feeling oddly comforted. He had missed this, and much as he knew his absences from his family had not all been due to his spending every night in Thranduil’s company, he still felt guilty. He had had all too little time for his children since the destruction of Lake-town and he had missed them terribly. 

Looking around, he saw Elves mingling freely with the people of Dale, talking softly, drinking and eating, and he couldn’t help a smile at seeing the two peoples apparently getting on so well. They had worked well together over the past weeks, and Bard hoped that it would help the negotiations, if the people were already becoming friendly. Perhaps if Dáin could be persuaded to lend some Dwarven builders and engineers for the rebuilding, more friendships could be forged.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Tilda wriggled off his lap with a squeal of “Mister Bofur!” and went pelting off into the crowd. Bard peered after her, and in a moment saw his youngest being lifted high by one of the Dwarves - the one with the hat. The Dwarf set her down again, and in a moment more Tilda came pushing through the crowd, tugging the Dwarf by the hand, and followed by the other Dwarf, the greybeard. 

“Da!” cried Tilda, “you remember Mister Bofur! And Mister…” she trailed off, and the greybeard Dwarf smiled. 

“Balin is my name,” he said. “And my colleague Bofur. We are at your service, my lord.”

Bard made to stand up, realised it would make him much taller than the two Dwarves, thought that might be rude, and sat down again; Tilda immediately scrambled back into his lap. “A pleasure to meet you properly,” he said. “Please, sit with us, if you will?” He gestured at the other side of the table, and Balin and Bofur shuffled in to sit side by side upon the bench. Agnes came past with two handfuls of mugs of ale, and set two mugs down in front of the Dwarves; each seized his mug and drank deeply. 

“Ah, that’s better,” said Bofur, grinning across the table at Tilda, Bain and Sigrid and wiping the ale froth from his moustache. 

“That it is,” said Balin. “It’s been a hard day for you, I don’t doubt.”

“A hard few weeks,” admitted Bard. “I did not look for any of this.”

“No,” said Balin, “and I am sorry for the trouble we brought down upon your head. It was not our intention. And you have my word that I will do my best to persuade Dáin to honour Thorin’s promise and pay you the gold you are owed.”

“I thank you,” said Bard. “If I am honest, I will be grateful for any help you can give me. I would like our people to be allied, and to help each other, but for Dale to be able to help Erebor, we will first need Erebor to help rebuild Dale.”

“Well, Dwarves helped to build this city once, I am sure we can help to rebuild it again,” said Balin with a smile. “I’ll have a word with Dáin, laddie. He’s a stubborn old coot, but persuadable, if you can make him see what he’ll gain out of the matter.”

“Aye,” said Bofur, “make sure he sees the advantage to himself and he’ll work with you.” He chuckled. “For myself, I’ll gladly help you. It’s a lovely city, you can see the bones of it even now, and it’d be satisfying work, to make it lovelier still.”

Sigrid leaned forward. “What would you recommend, Master Bofur? We’ve not had much chance yet to look at what we’ve got to work with.”

Bofur launched into a long and, to Bard, mostly incomprehensible speech about his impressions of the city and the recommendations he would make as to its rebuilding, and soon he and Sigrid were deep in discussion. Meanwhile, Bard took the opportunity to talk a little to Bain and Tilda about what they had been doing during the days. Bain, it turned out, had been helping to organise some of the older children to learn swordcraft and archery, and Tilda had mostly been telling stories and playing games with the really little ones, making sure they were safe and well distracted from everything that was going on outside the great hall.

“I’m proud of you,” said Bard when they had both run to a stop. “You’ve both been so brave, through all of this.”

Bain shrugged, and Tilda gave Bard a little smile. “It’s an adventure, Da,” she said. “Some of it’s been horrible, and frightening, but some of it has actually been fun. And we’ve made new friends, like Mister Bofur, and Tauriel. And we’ve got a new home, nicer than Lake-town ever was.”

“Maybe in a year or two, kitten,” said Bard. “It’s little more than ruins just now.”

“But it’s still pretty,” said Tilda. “And it’s made of stone, not wood, and it isn’t wet all the time.”

“And the walls are fun to climb on, Da,” said Bain. “Tilda’s right, it’s already nicer than Lake-town.”

“Are they now,” said Bard mildly, though inwardly he was rather horrified at the thought of his children clambering all over the broken stonework. “Don’t break yourselves, will you?”

“Course not, Da,” scoffed Bain. “Besides, you’ll need people who can climb to find out which houses are safe.”

“Not by falling off them,” said Bard firmly. “You’ll be careful.”

“Course I will, Da,” said Bain, long-sufferingly, and Bard made a mental note to ask Tauriel to keep an eye out for him. Elves could probably climb very well, after all. Maybe some of them might like to help with the surveying of the city. He’d have to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	15. An Alliance Between Our Three Peoples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil makes an appearance at the memorial, and everyone just about manages to keep things a) civil and b) secret. The Bardlings meet ~~their new stepdad~~ the Elvenking, and Tilda has a question for Bard.

A movement in the corner of Bard’s eye caught his attention, a flash of silver, and he turned to see that Thranduil had appeared at the end of the table, his lieutenant behind him.

“My Lord of Dale,” he said, and Bard set Tilda on the bench next to him and scrambled to his feet, trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest, and the thought that this was the first time they had met in public since - well, since everything. He would have to pretend they barely knew each other, would have to pretend they meant nothing to each other, would have to make sure none of it showed on his face, in his eyes, in his voice or his words…

“My Lord Thranduil,” he said, and then, casting about for something to say, “I thank you for coming to our memorial, today. I hope we may make an alliance between Dale and the Woodland Realm. As well as between Dale and Erebor.” He gestured at the two Dwarves, determined to treat everyone equally and give nobody any cause for offence.

Sigrid had broken off her conversation with Bofur and Balin, and Bard saw her shoot him a significant and very amused look, very briefly. _That’s not helping, sweetheart_ , he thought, but he tried not to let his consternation show upon his face.

“That is my hope also,” said Thranduil. “The Dark Lord’s forces grow ever stronger, and we will all need to band together against them.” He gestured from himself to Bard, to the two Dwarves, and back to himself again, earning stunned expressions from Balin and Bofur. 

“You are right, my Lord,” said Balin after a moment. “We will be stronger together. This is my colleague Bofur; I am Balin, and I was advisor to King Thorin.”

Thranduil raised one perfect eyebrow. “I am not sure that says much to recommend you,” he said smoothly, and Bard’s heart sank; Thranduil knew how important it was to make an alliance with the Dwarves, but it seemed the old enmity still ran too deep in him to allow him to be polite.

But Balin only chuckled sadly. “I am afraid Thorin was not in a frame of mind to listen to advice, once we regained the mountain. The gold-sickness claimed him quickly. But he came to himself again before the end. And it is my hope that King Dáin will accept me as his counsellor. I will do what I can to turn his mind to thoughts of alliance.” 

“Very well, Master Dwarf,” said Thranduil, his lips twisting in amusement. “I shall look forward to the beginning of negotiations, although I think that discussions between our three realms should wait until after the winter. Dale’s needs are more urgent than mine at this point in time.”

“We’ll not see the people of Dale freeze or starve this winter,” said Balin. “You can be sure of that, my Lords.” He nodded at Thranduil, and then at Bard.

“Dale will be glad of any help you can spare, Master Balin,” said Bard. “Now is not the time for pride, and you can see that we have very little in the way of supplies and warm clothing.”

“We haven’t much more,” said Balin, “but our people are beginning to arrive, and they are bringing possessions and goods with them. I’m sure we can spare some for you, and I’ll put in a word with Dáin for you.”

“I thank you,” said Bard, with relief; he had been worrying about what on earth they were going to do about food and clothes over the winter.

“For my part, I will see to it that another cartload of supplies sets out from the Woodland Realm,” said Thranduil. “Food and clothing, and wood for fires, at least. For building materials I think you will be better off consulting our Dwarven friends.”

Balin and Bofur exchanged shocked looks, and then Balin smiled. “It will be good to put our past enmity behind us, my Lord,” he said. “Forgiven, if perhaps not forgotten.”

Bard did not miss the tiny flinch around Thranduil’s eyes at Balin’s words, but he gave the Dwarf a small smile nevertheless. “I think perhaps we can work upon that basis,” he said. “Now, my Lord of Dale, will you introduce me to your children?”

“Of course,” said Bard, very conscious of the significance of this moment, and also that this - this charade was not how he had imagined introducing Thranduil to the children. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d had in mind, but it wasn’t this, both of them pretending that they were nothing to each other but potential allies. “My eldest, Sigrid, my son Bain, and my youngest girl Tilda.”

Sigrid got up and bobbed a curtsey, shooting Tilda a look so that she did the same, and Bain got to his feet and did a little bow. Thranduil smiled graciously and inclined his head. 

“My Lady Sigrid, my Lord Bain, my Lady Tilda. It is my honour to make your acquaintance,” he said. 

“And ours to make yours, my Lord,” said Sigrid, looking him in the eye and giving him a smile just as regal as his own. “We look forward to the alliance between our three peoples.”

Bard resisted the temptation to gape as Thranduil’s gracious, regal smile warmed to something more genuine.

“As do I, my Lady,” he said. “I will greatly enjoy working with you, and with your father. And with these fine gentlemen.” He gestured to the two Dwarves, for which Bard was grateful because it took the attention away from him, and he was trying very hard not to blush, because he had the feeling he knew what Thranduil meant when he said he would enjoy working with him. 

“Now,” said Thranduil, “I cannot stay, but I hope to meet you all again very soon.” His eyes flicked to Bard’s, almost imperceptibly, and Bard’s heart turned over as he kept on trying to suppress the heat rising up his face.

Thranduil swept on through the square, turning every human head as he went, though the Elves were far too well trained to stare at their King, and Bard and the children sat down again; Sigrid fell back into conversation with Balin and Bofur, and Bard, Bain and Tilda began to talk about the possibilities of alliances with the Dwarves and the Elves. The children wanted to know about the Woodland Realm, so Bard told them of what little he’d seen from the river, and then told them of the tiny bit of Erebor he had seen, which amounted to whatever he could glimpse behind Thorin through that spyhole in the door. Bain wanted to know more about the Dwarven kingdom, so he edged himself into Sigrid’s conversation with Balin and Bofur, leaving Bard and Tilda sitting quietly together.

“The King’s very pretty,” Tilda whispered to Bard after a little while. 

“I suppose he is, kitten,” said Bard as calmly as he could, thanking the powers that be that Tilda was young enough not to pick up on any subtle indications he might accidentally show. 

“But he’s mean,” said Tilda. “Tauriel said so.” She paused. “I mean, she said he was nice to her after, but he was still mean first.”

“I think it’s not easy to be a King, kitten,” said Bard carefully. “I think sometimes it makes you not such a nice person, because you’ve got to think of more things than just individual people.” And that was without carrying around centuries of grief and pain inside, but he wasn’t going to say that. “And then sometimes things happen that make you realise that maybe you made a mistake or two along the way.”

“That had better not happen to you,” said Tilda sternly, looking up at him, and Bard smiled and ruffled her hair gently. 

“I’ll do my best not to let it, kitten,” he said. 

“You promise?”

“I promise. And if you ever see me being not so nice, you tell me straight away, all right? Will you promise me that?”

“Of course I will, Da,” said Tilda, giving him a big smile, and he hugged her close to him. He needed to find more time for his children, as soon as possible. As soon as he had solved the problem of food and clothing, as soon as he had established which buildings were safe to inhabit, as soon as he had negotiated with the Dwarves for the rebuilding to start…was this what it was going to be like now? He desperately hoped that things would quieten down soon, or he didn’t quite know what he would do. 

Later, in Thranduil’s tent - in Thranduil’s bed, with two half-finished goblets of wine on the bedside table - he sighed and rested his head on Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“I barely see the children any more,” he said, with another sigh. “There’s just so much to do. I often wouldn’t see them for days on end before, when I had the barge, but now, I’m here but I’m not. We’re all in the same place, but I’m too busy to see them. And then at night…well, they’re asleep, and I’m here. Sigrid tells me I shouldn’t feel guilty about this, she says I haven’t done anything for myself since before they all came along, but I still can’t help it. Much as I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, just now, than here with you, I still can’t help feeling…” he sighed again. 

“As though you should be there, with them, watching them sleep,” said Thranduil softly, brushing a kiss across Bard’s forehead. 

“Yes,” said Bard, “but at the same time I can’t bear the thought of not coming to you at nightfall. You’ll be having to go home soon enough as it is.”

“Your whole life has been your children, has it not? Especially since your wife died, you have been everything to them and they have been everything to you.” 

“Everything,” said Bard, closing his eyes for a moment. “I don’t quite know how to think of something that isn’t them. How to think only of myself and what I want. I don’t feel as though I should.”

Thranduil sighed. “I should have been more like you, with my own son. Instead, all I could think of was my own pain. I never gave a thought to his.”

Bard tightened his arms about him. “But now you do,” he murmured. “And when you next see him, you can tell him, and begin to make amends.”

“If I see him,” said Thranduil very softly. “I do not know when, or if, he will return. And the thought of not seeing him again…it breaks my heart all over again.” He was speaking so quietly by the end of his sentence that Bard almost could not hear him, and Bard leaned up to kiss him, very softly. 

“He will return,” he said. “You have all the time in the world, so you may have to wait for a while, but he will come back to you.”

“How can you be so certain?” Thranduil asked, and the anguish in his voice made Bard’s heart hurt. 

“Because no matter what may have happened between you, you are still his father, and he is still your son. Nothing can change that. It’s a bond stronger than almost anything.”

“I hope you are right,” Thranduil whispered, and then Bard kissed him again, winding his fingers into Thranduil’s hair and pouring all of his feelings into his kiss, his touch, wanting to reassure him, comfort him, let him know that everything would be all right.

They lay together for a long time, just holding each other, breathing each other in, neither of them in any mood for anything other than the occasional kiss, soft and soul-deep, filled with sadness and longing and dread of the parting they knew would soon be inevitable. Eventually, Bard drifted off to sleep, and Thranduil followed him into reverie with his arms tight around Bard and his face buried in Bard’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	16. The Best Man In All The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrid gives Thranduil a talking-to about her Da; Thranduil tries to reassure her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for the lovely [friendoftheJabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendoftheJabberwock), who reminded me that I'd been planning to write Sigrid giving Thranduil the shovel talk, and then forgotten to actually write it. Luckily it slotted in really nicely just here. :D

“My Lord Thranduil? Your Majesty?” 

Thranduil looked up from the plans he and Feren were studying, spread out on a makeshift trestle table in the shelter of one of the ruined buildings, and saw Bard’s elder daughter making her way towards them. 

“My Lady,” he said, offering her his salute, and she bobbed a curtsey as she came to a stop in front of them. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” she said, flicking a glance between Thranduil and Feren but returning to Thranduil. “Might I ask for a moment of your time, my Lord? I would like to speak to you in private, if I may?”

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “Feren, we will continue this later. Lady Sigrid, will you walk with me?” He offered her his arm and she took it; he thought she looked a little nervous.

They walked a little way in silence, and Thranduil realised that Sigrid was leading him away from the centre of the city to somewhere a little less crowded, somewhere they would not be overheard. He had a feeling that this probably concerned her father, and he certainly did not want to have such a conversation in a public place.

Eventually they came to a broken-down section of the city wall that overlooked the mountains, on the opposite side of the city from Erebor, and Sigrid moved away from him to sit on a piece of rubble next to the gap in the wall, gazing out over the landscape. She did not seem in a hurry to begin talking, and Thranduil settled himself carefully on a piece of stonework a little way away from her, and waited.

After a few moments of silence, Thranduil smiled and inclined his head to Sigrid. “You wished to speak to me, my Lady?” he prompted, and she glanced at him and then lowered her eyes, blushing a little and smiling. 

“I did. I do, I mean. It’s just - I’m not sure how to begin. I had it all planned out in my head but it’s not so easy to come out and say it.”

“I assume this has something to do with your father,” said Thranduil, “and the nature of my relationship with him.”

Sigrid nodded, and met his eyes. “It’s about Da. Look, I think you need to know, he hasn’t had anyone in his life but us children since Mam died ten years ago. He doesn’t know how to think about anyone except us. And I think all this, with you -“ she broke off, frowning, clearly marshalling her thoughts, “I think it’s taken him completely by surprise, and you’ve swept him right off his feet.” She gave him a defiant look, as though expecting him to deny everything. “You have, I know you have, and I want to ask you to be careful with him.”

Thranduil nodded, schooling his expression carefully so that he showed only the seriousness with which he was taking the situation, and none of his impressed amusement at Sigrid’s shy yet somehow bold concern for her father. 

“I have every intention to be as careful as I possibly can be with your father,” he said gravely. “I find I have become very fond of him.”

Sigrid nodded. “And I know he’s very fond of you,” she said. “But - I mean, we don’t know a single thing about you, and you’re - well, I’m stating the obvious here, but you’re different to us, and you’re…” she paused, evidently choosing her words carefully. “You’re impossibly beautiful, and glamorous, and mysterious, and exotic, and we’re all of us just very, very ordinary.”

Thranduil placed his hand on his heart and inclined his head, allowing himself a small smile this time. “I thank you, my Lady,” he said. “But I think you underestimate yourself, and your father, and your people. To me, you are all those words you have just used to describe me. You and your people are unfamiliar to me, and you are far from ordinary. You are noble and brave, and almost impossibly courageous and persistent in the face of overwhelming odds. And your father, despite all that he has been through, is kind, and compassionate, and endlessly generous and trusting. I will not abuse that trust, Lady Sigrid, upon that I give you my word.”

“I hope not,” said Sigrid, fixing him with her gaze, her voice suddenly full of steel. “Because my Da is the best man in all the world, and I will not see him hurt.”

Thranduil blinked, a little taken aback by the intensity of Sigrid’s determination, and finding himself almost completely disarmed. “I do not wish to see him hurt either,” he said, low and insistent. “That is the last thing I would want. I would see that he never hurts again, or wants for anything.”

Sigrid was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed upon him as though she were reading a book. “You really do like him, don’t you?” she murmured eventually, a little smile stealing across her face.

“I really do like him,” Thranduil said, answering her smile with one of his own. “And I promise you that my intentions towards him are honourable.”

“They’d better be,” said Sigrid, her little smile broadening even as she tried to look stern. “Because if they’re not, I’ll have something to say about it.”

“I do not doubt it,” said Thranduil. “And I do not doubt you. So I would ask you to believe me when I tell you that I hold your father in very high regard, and I know that we are very different and this situation is - unprecedented, at least for me, although it is not unheard-of among my people. I do not know what will happen, but I very much hope we will come to mean a great deal to each other.”

Sigrid looked at him for a long moment and then nodded, apparently satisfied. 

“Fine. But if I need to have something to say to you, I _will_ say it,” she said. “And - I also wanted to ask you about Tauriel. Because I know that part is none of my business, it’s between you and her, but the way you treated her, originally, it makes me worried about my Da. I think you’ll understand that.” Her look was a challenge, holding his eyes, and Thranduil nodded sharply.

“I understand. What passed between Tauriel and myself is our business, but I hope it will reassure you to know that I have apologised to her and asked for her forgiveness. I was - not myself, for a very long time, and I have come to see the error of my ways. I hurt Tauriel because I had closed myself off from those who cared about me - those I cared for. It is - a challenge not to fall back upon those habits, but I am determined not to do so, and especially not with your father, who has done nothing to deserve them.” He paused. “Not, of course, that Tauriel or my son did anything to deserve the way I treated them, either.” He fell silent, looking at his feet, and after a moment Sigrid reached over to place her hand on his arm.

“As long as you don’t do it again, and you show them how sorry you are, it’ll all come right in the end,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Da always used to say that to us when we’d been bad, and he was always right, so who’s to say it wouldn’t apply to you too?”

Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, but found he had no words to counter her faith in her father, and her father’s faith in everything coming right in the end. He raised his eyes to look at her, and saw compassion and caring radiating from her as it did from Bard every time he spoke his words of reassurance. Clearly it ran in the family, he thought.

“We shall see,” he said eventually, quietly. “I am - I am trying to learn not to be that person any more, and your father is helping me greatly.”

Sigrid smiled. “Good. And I hope you can help him to see that sometimes it’s all right if he thinks of himself first and us second. I’ve got everything under control where we’re concerned.”

Thranduil laughed despite himself. “I do not doubt that for one moment, my Lady,” he said. “Your father tells me that you are quite the politician, and now I believe him.”

Sigrid frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, and Thranduil smiled.

“You identified the issue at hand, and you took steps to resolve it, while also ensuring that no offence was given, and there was no breach of privacy of the parties involved, or of the secrecy of the information concerned. I think you have the makings of a very talented Lady of Dale, should you decide that is what you want to become.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, “I hadn’t thought of it like that. And - well, we both know Da doesn’t want to do the job, but I’m too young and I’ve got too much to learn. Well, Da’s got a lot to learn, too, but he’s old enough that people take him seriously, and he’s already proved himself in Lake-town. I’m too young and I’m a girl, so I’ll have to learn twice as much and be twice as impressive before anyone will look twice at me.”

“You undersell yourself,” said Thranduil, “but if you wish to learn, I am sure I can help you.”

“Would you?” said Sigrid. “That would be wonderful! Thank you. I should like to learn as much as I can from as many people as I can - including the Dwarves.” She gave him a mischievous grin, and Thranduil could not help smiling back at her. “They are our nearest neighbours, after all,” Sigrid went on, “and I will need to learn to understand them if we are to negotiate successfully with them.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I do not think it will take you long. After all, it has taken you hardly any time to learn to understand me enough to conduct this negotiation successfully.”

Sigrid shook her head, but she grinned happily, and Thranduil thought that here was someone he would certainly be able to work with. And perhaps she would be able to charm Dáin into some semblance of civility.

Later, in his tent after nightfall, Thranduil recounted his meeting with Sigrid to Bard, and Bard only laughed. 

“I rather thought she might do that,” he said. “She wasn’t too stern with you, or too presumptuous, I hope?”

Thranduil chuckled. “She was exactly the right amount of stern for the situation, and not at all presumptuous. I was very impressed. She has the makings of a fine leader, and I told her so.”

“I hope she’ll get the opportunity sooner rather than later,” said Bard. “I really don’t want to have to do it for longer than I have to.”

“I have offered to help her with her learning,” said Thranduil. “Of course, she said that she wanted to learn from the Dwarves as well, but that is - well, it is more sensible than I have ever been.” He smiled self-deprecatingly and Bard leaned in to kiss him. 

“She doesn’t have the history with them that you do,” he said. “And she’s starting late, she hasn’t been trained for this from birth, so she’s wanting to catch up from as many sources as she can.” He chuckled. “Not as late as I’m starting, mind, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to learn it all, so I’m lucky to have her around.”

“She will be a good support to you,” said Thranduil, “and a worthy successor. And I hope Tauriel will be able to support you too, when I am gone.”

“I hope so too,” said Bard, “but don’t let’s talk of you going, not now. I’m trying not to think about it.”

“So am I,” said Thranduil, and he kissed Bard very softly, in hopes of giving them both something else to think about, to distract them from his impending departure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	17. I Don't Want You To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for the Elves to leave Dale, and Bard and Thranduil spend one last night together. Neither of them wants the morning to come, and neither of them is quite capable of putting their feelings properly into words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 17-21 have been expanded (quite a lot!) from a story I wrote as part of Writers' Month 2020 entitled [So Much To Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714840).

All too soon the day came when the Elves must leave Dale and return to the Woodland Realm, chief among them of course their King. Bard did his best to be sanguine about it, for of course he had always known that Thranduil could not stay in Dale for ever ( _but why not?_ Bard could not help thinking, _what’s left of my life is a blink of an eye for him, why can he not stay, I need him, I want him to stay_ ), he must return to his own kingdom which was under threat from greater powers than Bard could really comprehend, but he was struggling to reconcile himself to the knowledge. 

He spent the last night in Thranduil’s bed, as he had spent every night since the battle, committing everything to memory, every inch of Thranduil’s skin, every sound he made, the angles of his face and the sensation of his hair drifting across Bard’s face, whispering down his chest as Thranduil kissed his way downwards, everything, _everything_ , because he knew he would have to make the memories last him for months, all through the cold of the winter. And this wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but he would have to make the best of it, for this was his life now. Unasked-for in so many ways, some that he did not want and some, such as this, that he truly, desperately did. 

He tipped his head back and bit back a moan as Thranduil took him into his mouth, slipping his hands into Thranduil’s hair and letting his fingers graze over the tips of his ears, shuddering as Thranduil hummed with delight around him and curled his tongue and _oh_ , he had to clap a hand over his mouth for the hundredth time. And the next time they did this, if he visited Thranduil in his home, he would not have to be quiet, and _that_ would be something worth the wait. But for now, for now…he bit down on his finger as he had done so many times before as Thranduil sent him shuddering over the edge, convulsing with such pleasure as he’d never felt before these past few weeks.

Thranduil slid back up and kissed him soundly, letting Bard taste himself on his tongue, and that in turn sent another shiver across Bard’s skin. Bard arched against him, and then came to a decision, nudging Thranduil to lie back against the pillows and shifting to kneel astride his hips, leaning down for a kiss and then carefully, slowly, deliberately beginning to lick a trail down the right side of Thranduil’s neck, across his collarbone and down the centre of his chest, pausing to circle each nipple with the tip of his tongue, lapping at each one and drinking in the muffled noises Thranduil made as he did so. He glanced up to see the look of delight on Thranduil’s face and then made his way further down, across his hard, flat stomach and down to his hipbones, drawing his tongue across one and then the other, then the soft, taut skin between hipbone and arousal and then, _then_ he brushed the softest of kisses across Thranduil’s head, darting his tongue out and smiling at the gasp that earned him. He drew his tongue carefully around it and then very, very slowly began to take Thranduil into his mouth. He had not quite done this yet, hadn’t quite got this far, hadn’t quite pulled the confidence together, but this was the last chance he was going to get before the spring and he was damned if he was going to let this last opportunity pass him by. 

“Are you sure?” murmured Thranduil, and Bard raised his head just enough to speak.

“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in all my life,” he said. “I’m not leaving this until after the winter.”

Thranduil chuckled, and then gasped again as Bard took him back in. “I will not - ah! - argue with you upon that point,” he said breathlessly, tangling his hands in Bard’s hair, and Bard smiled to himself, humming in amusement and shifting his focus to what he was doing, wanting to do this as well as he possibly could for it being the first time he had done it. He spread his hands across Thranduil’s sharp hipbones and moved carefully, up a little, down a little further each time, not all the way, he couldn’t quite manage that, but far enough he hoped, and he remembered from watching Thranduil do this to him to hollow his cheeks and suck a little on the upward movement. That earned him a stifled moan, and he glanced up to see Thranduil watching him intently, the tips of his long fingers pressed to his lips. Bard shivered, and then lowered his eyes again, continuing what he was doing, until Thranduil’s fingers tightened in his hair. 

“Any more of that and I will -“ he said softly, and Bard nodded, reluctantly letting Thranduil slip from his mouth, replacing lips with fingers as he slid back up the length of his body. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I don’t think I can - not this time, I mean. I’m sorry. I’ll learn.”

Thranduil kissed him softly, then pulled away, catching his breath. “No need to apologise,” he said with a smile. “It takes some practice, which I am more than happy to give you, when we have more time. Just - ai! - keep doing what you are doing…” He trailed off and Bard did as he was told, stroking firmly once, twice, three times more and kissing Thranduil firmly as his breath caught and hitched upon his release.

“I don’t want you to go,” Bard admitted in a murmur after a little while. “I am selfish, I know, but I want to keep you here with me.”

Thranduil smiled, tilting his chin up with one finger and kissing him gently. “I know. I would like nothing more than to be able to stay, but my realm and my people need me, as your people need you, and we will both have more than enough to keep us busy this winter.”

“I’ve never - I’ve never been apart from someone I…someone I care for, for so long,” Bard whispered, unwilling or unable to say the word he really meant, not when saying it would make it real and would make their parting even more unbearable than it already was. “Maudie and I were never apart more than a day or two till the day I lost her.”

Thranduil kissed him again. “I will write to you. And you will be busy. There will be so much to do that you will not have time to miss me.”

“I don’t think I could ever be so busy that I wouldn’t miss you,” said Bard. “Who am I going to talk to about everything?”

“Well, I think the political matters could be discussed with Sigrid,” said Thranduil with a smile, “although I think the other matters are best kept between us.”

Bard almost choked on a laugh. “You can say that again,” he spluttered, and Thranduil chuckled softly. 

“The other matters will keep,” he said. “The winter will be long, and miserable, but it will pass, as all seasons turn, and soon it will be spring. And in the spring I shall issue an official invitation for the Lord of Dale and his children to pay a diplomatic visit to the Woodland Realm. Where my chambers lie beyond walls of solid rock and well out of the earshot of any passers-by.” 

Bard grinned and leaned in for another kiss. “You know the thought of that is going to be the only thing that keeps me going over the winter?” he said, and Thranduil smiled. 

“You will not be alone in that,” he said. “I am going to miss you terribly.”

Bard’s heart turned over in his chest at Thranduil’s admission. “Truly?” he whispered, before he could stop himself, and then wished he could take it back. He had not intended to question, had not intended to show his fear, had not truly known that he felt it until this moment: his fear that Thranduil would ride out of Dale and forget all about him. 

“Do not doubt me,” said Thranduil softly. “I know I have not been my usual self since the battle, but I know now that I do not wish to be that self any more, and you are the one who showed me that there was more to life than how I had been living.”

“I don’t doubt you,” said Bard, “I just…it’s just, you’re so…you’re _you_ and I’m me, and I’m pretty sure this is not something you usually do, and - and I’m worried that it _is_ a temporary aberration after all, and -" he trailed off, drawing in a deep breath. “And I’m not sure what I would do if that turned out to be the case.”

“You are right about one thing,” said Thranduil, “and that is that this is not something I usually do. But the reason you mean is not the reason you are right. The fact that I am doing this, with you, when I do not usually - have not been close to anyone since my wife died - does not mean I am trifling with you. It means -" he paused, breathed deeply, and continued, “it means that you are the only person I have allowed close to me since I lost her, and I have done that because I feel something for you, very deeply. And I am not willing to let you go, and I will not forget you.” He took another deep breath. “Does that reassure you?”

“Oh,” said Bard, he hadn’t expected - well, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but even though Thranduil had been open about his feelings all along, he still hadn’t expected such a declaration. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I think it does. Thank you. I’m sorry. I -“ and he decided to stop talking and just kiss Thranduil instead, hard and determined. “I am never going to forget you,” he said when he surfaced for air, “I don’t want to let you go, I don’t want you to _leave_ , and I’m already thinking about when I’ll see you again.” He could not name what he felt, not out loud, not yet, not _now_ , but he could at least explain it, he thought, and perhaps that would be enough, for now at least. 

“I am glad we understand each other,” murmured Thranduil against Bard’s lips, and Bard sighed softly. 

“So am I,” he said, and kissed him again, softly, full of feeling, hoping Thranduil could at least sense what he couldn’t say.

And later, when Bard was drowsing, his head pillowed on Thranduil’s shoulder, almost but not quite asleep, Thranduil whispered something in his own language and smoothed a hand over Bard’s hair, brushed a soft kiss across Bard’s forehead, and Bard did not understand the words, but he felt the sadness in Thranduil’s voice and he knew then with absolute certainty that Thranduil felt the same as he did, and he felt his fears had been allayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	18. I Will See You In The Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil must say farewell until after the winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pining time, kids.
> 
> Chapters 17-21 have been expanded (quite a lot!) from a story I wrote as part of Writers' Month 2020 entitled [So Much To Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714840).

In the morning, Bard crept from Thranduil’s tent as he had done so many times before, but this time Thranduil did not remain in bed and watch him leave, but got up and came with him to the curtain that divided the tent in two, wrapping him up in a tight, almost desperate embrace. 

“I will see you when we take our leave,” he said, “and then I will see you in the spring, I give you my word.”

Bard nodded, not quite trusting his voice for a moment. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it,” he said eventually, “how I can possibly say goodbye to you like that, formally, out there in front of everyone, and watch you ride away.” He hauled in a deep breath that was shakier than he would have liked. “I will do it, because I have to, but I honestly don’t know how I’ll manage it.”

“You will do well,” said Thranduil, “as will I. This is something else that takes practice, standing before your people and not betraying your feelings, but it is something you will learn to do. Just know that we have already said our farewells, here, between us, and the two people we must pretend to be out there are not who we are in here.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard, and he pulled himself together and kissed Thranduil long and hard, if this was going to have to tide them over then he was determined to make it count.

Later, standing on the steps of the main square with Sigrid at his side and looking out over the Elven army and the people of Dale gathered together, Bard did his best to give a fitting speech. All he really wanted was to go and sit somewhere on the ramparts and stare out at the landscape and be alone for a while, or alternatively to take Thranduil into his arms and never let him go, and instead he had to play at being the Lord of Dale and pretend that all of this was not taking him to pieces inside. Somehow he managed it, spurred on by the fear of what would happen if he let his façade slip, and faintly comforted by Sigrid’s hand in the small of his back, for of course she knew his heart, and she knew what this charade was costing him. 

He thanked Thranduil and the Elves for their help, and then stood as impassively as he could to receive Thranduil’s formal reply, his salute with his head inclined and his hand on his heart. And then Thranduil mounted his horse - an inadequate substitute for his magnificent war elk, but needs must, and Bard was obscurely comforted that it was the horse he himself had borrowed before the battle, to ride out to the gates of Erebor. Then Thranduil rode out of Dale, followed by his impeccably-drilled army, and he took Bard’s heart with him; and there was nothing Bard could do about that at all. 

As the last of the Elves marched away, the people in the square began to mill around, some of them going back to the jobs they had been assigned and others just talking, seemingly unwilling to resume their normal tasks just yet. Bard sympathised entirely; he did not quite know how to pick up the threads of his day just yet, and he still wanted to go and sit on the city wall and watch the Elves as they made their way off into the distance. 

“Come on, Da,” said Sigrid quietly. “Let’s go and look at what building work needs to be done. Bain’s got a few ideas to show you from his climbing, and Tauriel, too. And I got lots of useful ideas from Bofur the day of the memorial, so we’ve got plenty to be getting on with.” 

“I suppose so, sweetheart,” said Bard, and Sigrid smiled and hugged him tight for a moment. 

“Come on,” she said. “You need to take your mind off things otherwise you’ll be moping all day, and don’t even try to deny that.” 

“I don’t quite know what I’m going to do without him,” confessed Bard in an undertone, careful not to be overheard. “It all happened so very fast, and we never quite managed to say what we were to each other but we said a lot of other things and none of them were…things I’d expected to be saying to someone I’d known for a few weeks. I feel as though I’ve been turned upside down and given a good shake, and then set down again somewhere completely different.”

Sigrid hugged him again. “You’d have felt like that anyway, Da. Look at how different everything is for us now. But it’s pretty obvious that he feels the same about you, to me anyway.” She smiled. “Nobody else would have noticed, but he never took his eyes off you just now, not until he absolutely had to. He is so far gone for you it’s almost funny.”

“I don’t feel much like laughing,” said Bard, and Sigrid rolled her eyes.

“Of course you don’t, Da. But the winter will pass, and then you’ll see him again. Besides, in the meantime you can write letters. And we’ve plenty to be doing to keep us busy, besides.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard, not feeling particularly comforted by the thought of writing letters, but knowing that Sigrid was right. The winter would pass. All he had to do was live through it without driving himself mad pining after Thranduil.

A gust of wind swept through the square and Sigrid tucked her shawl closer around her shoulders; Bard tugged at the lapels of his coat and sighed. It was colder here than it had been in Lake-town; Dale’s position high on a hill left it far more exposed to the elements. He really was not relishing the thought of the coming winter. 

All the more reason to get at least some of the buildings made safe enough for people to live in, he thought, giving himself a mental shake, and he tucked Sigrid’s arm through his and went to find Bain, Tilda and Tauriel at the foot of the steps. All of them were ready with things they wanted to show him, ideas they had had, and he cast a glance at Sigrid out of the corner of his eye; he had the distinct feeling she had planned this and had briefed the three of them. She just smiled blandly at him, but Bard knew regardless. She was a clever girl, his Sigrid, cleverer by far than him. 

After a few days, a wagon arrived from the Woodland Realm bearing food and warm winter clothing, including a bundle of clothes addressed to Bard and his family, and a packet of papers also for Bard, which turned out to be three slim volumes addressed to Sigrid, Bain and Tilda with a note from Thranduil saying that they might care to ask Tauriel to translate for them, and a square fold of paper sealed with green wax and the silver-dusted impression of a leaf, and addressed to Bard in a clear, beautiful hand. 

Everyone was too busy ensuring the distribution of the supplies for them to investigate further, but that evening, sitting around the fireplace in the small house that had been decreed safe for the Lord of Dale and his family to live in - and how Bard had protested at being found accommodation before the rest of the people, but nobody would hear a word of it and eventually he had subsided - Sigrid brought out her book and handed it to Tauriel.

“What is it?” she asked. “I mean, it looks beautiful, but I haven’t a clue what it says.”

The new Elven ambassador to Dale and Erebor raised her eyebrows. “My King has sent you a book on political theory and governance as it is practised by the Elves,” she said. “Although why he has sent it to you and not to your father I am not sure. I mean no offence,” she added hastily, and Bard grinned, flapping a hand.

“None taken,” he said. “I think your King has already worked out that I am not the one with the political mind in this family.“

Sigrid, meanwhile, had lit up with delight. “Oh, it will be so helpful to learn some of the theory to go along with all the practice,” she said. “Tauriel, will you teach me how to read it? Then perhaps we can write it down in Westron so that it’s easier to refer to later.” She flashed Bard a conspiratorial look. “It’s most kind of the King to send this for me. I’ll have to write him a thank you letter.”

“What are the other two books?” asked Bard, and Tilda looked up from hers, already enthralled. 

“I think mine might be fairy stories,” she said. “At least, the pictures look like it.”

Tauriel leaned over to take a look. “Yes, yours is a collection of tales we tell Elflings. I read it myself many times when I was little.” She smiled. “In fact, I think this is the copy I read. It belongs to Prince Legolas, or it once did.”

Tilda’s eyes widened and she drew in a little gasp. “Doesn’t he want it any more?”

Tauriel smiled. “I don’t think he needs it. He is very much too old for fairy stories now, and he is away from his home for the time being. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having it, Tilda.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, “well, when I see him again I will say thank you. But in the meantime, will you read it to me at bedtime?”

“Of course I will,” said Tauriel. “Bain, what about your book?”

“I think it’s something to do with archery, going by the pictures,” said Bain, showing her a little awkwardly. Bard had to suppress a smile, of course, his son was at the age where he was bound to feel uncertain and shy around girls and women, no matter that Tauriel was not at all the sort of girl he was used to encountering; although perhaps that made the awkwardness worse.

Tauriel’s eyes lit up when she saw the book. “Oh, yes, this is the first book we all studied when we were training to join the Woodland Guard,” she said. “It explains all the basic techniques for combat with bow and arrow and with the sword and knives. It is very good, and very helpful.”

Bain only nodded, and gave her a shy little smile, and Bard stepped in.

“It’s very kind of the King to send you these,” he said. “You’ll all have to write letters to say thank you. And Tauriel, you’re going to have a lot of translating to be doing. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tauriel gave him a smile that almost, but not quite, reached her eyes. “It will be my pleasure. I find that having things to do is helping me, and -“ she broke off, her eyes filling, and Tilda, who had been watching her closely, scrambled up into her lap, holding the book of fairy stories. 

“It’s all right, Tauriel,” she said quietly as the Elf-woman wrapped her up in a hug, “we’re sad too. We’ll help you as much as we can, won’t we?” She looked round at her siblings and her father, and Bard felt a sudden warmth, pride in his children filling him up and easing the ache in his chest. 

“Of course we will,” he said. “I know it must be very difficult for you at the moment, Tauriel, and if there is ever anything you need, even if it’s just to talk, I want you to know you need only ask.”

Tauriel blinked a couple of times, dashing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “My life has turned upside down over the past weeks, and to find myself in the company of friends is a comfort.”

“Yours and everyone else’s,” said Bard, not unkindly. “We’re all in this together, and you’re absolutely included.”

“What did the King send for you, Da?” asked Tilda after a moment, and Bard sighed inwardly, he’d been hoping to get away without having to answer that question.

“Just a letter,” he said, though his fingers curled around it in his pocket. “Probably just pleasantries about the supplies, and maybe a tip or two on dealing with the Dwarves.”

Sigrid snorted with laughter. “I don’t think you necessarily ought to listen too hard to him when it comes to the Dwarves, Da,” she said. “You heard him at the memorial, he’s hard put to it to be polite, even after everything.”

Tauriel let out a helpless giggle too, and Bard sighed again, outwardly this time.

“Well, perhaps he’s got some things to learn as well as me,” he said mildly. “You have to remember that things have changed for everyone, not just us, and they’re very different now to how they were for hundreds of years. Some people are very used to how things were because they were there for all those years, so I think everyone’s going to have to spend a little bit of time learning to adjust.”

“You can say that again,” said Sigrid. “And I think those books are the Elvenking’s way of helping us to do that. So you’d better hope he’s sent you some good advice, Da.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she grinned across at him, and he rolled his eyes at her, although secretly he was hoping for much the same. Well, perhaps not only advice.

Much later, when the children and Tauriel had all gone to bed - Tauriel was living in the house with them for the time being, but Bard had said to her that if she ever found it stifling he would make sure to find her somewhere of her own - Bard slipped the letter out of his pocket, and slid the blade of his pocketknife under the seal, not wanting to break such a thing of beauty. Carefully he levered it away and unfolded the paper, and settled down to read. 

_My Lord of Dale,_ Thranduil had written, _I have been home not two hours, and I seize this opportunity to write to you, while my people assemble another wagon of supplies for your city. The journey was most uneventful and I confess to being disappointed, for I had hoped for at least some small distraction from the ache in my heart at leaving you. I hope you have found plenty to distract you, and I bid you, if I may, to remember that it will only be a few short months until we may see each other again. In the meantime, I will sustain myself with the memories of our too-brief time together. I hope you will, too, and remember that I remain, my dear Bard, ever yours, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm._

Bard read the letter over twice, three times, smoothing his thumb over the words, knowing already that he was going to be spending a great deal of time analysing what Thranduil had said, wondering his reasons for using their titles - perhaps to remind Bard that they were equals, now - thrilling at the small indications that Thranduil still felt as he did, still missed him, still looked forward to the spring and their next meeting. And he would have to come up with a suitable reply before the Woodland Elves took their wagon back to their home. He was no scholar, and he would not be able to write as eloquently as Thranduil, but he hoped he would be able to manage something that might tell Thranduil what he needed him to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	19. Company and Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard is miserable over the winter, but his children and Tauriel make things a little more bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still pining time!
> 
> Chapters 17-21 have been expanded (quite a lot!) from a story I wrote as part of Writers' Month 2020 entitled [So Much To Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714840).

The winter was indeed cold and miserable, and although Bofur had brought a team of Dwarven builders to help make safe as many buildings as possible, and despite the warm clothes the Elves had sent, despite the never-ending list of things to do, nobody was particularly happy during those long months, Bard being probably the most miserable of them all. He hated the responsibility of leadership, he hated that he had so little time for his children, he hated that his life had changed so completely and irrevocably, and most of all he hated that he could not be with Thranduil, safe and warm in the halls of the Woodland Realm.

But he had company, at least, and counsel. Tauriel was becoming a good friend, and he had come to value her wisdom. She spent some time in Erebor and some time in Dale, and from the sounds of it the survivors of Thorin’s company were vouching for her to Dáin. The stubborn King under the Mountain had not accepted her yet, but he was becoming a fraction less hostile, and that, Bard and Tauriel both agreed, had to be a good sign.

Meanwhile, between Tauriel, Sigrid, Percy and Hilda, Bard had assembled a council of trusted advisors and helpers, sensible people who could help him see his way through problems and hopefully keep him from making too many mistakes, antagonising Dáin, or inadvertently slipping into dictatorship as the Master had; although Bard suspected that had not been inadvertent, and hoped that he did not have it in himself to become such a thing. He still did not want this job, this title, and he was still determined to hold elections once they had established themselves, but for now he had at least come to see that there was nobody else at hand who could do the job.

And Sigrid was quietly supportive to him in his unhappiness, knowing as she did the reason behind it. She never mentioned it when she saw him rereading one of Thranduil’s letters, only smiled softly, and she always came to hug him when she saw him looking particularly miserable. She and Bain and Tilda were a comfort to him just as they had been when he had lost Maudie, and he clung to them almost desperately. 

One evening he was sitting up late with Tauriel, drinking some of the wine that Thranduil had left behind and talking softly about this and that, the negotiations with Dáin for building stone and Dwarven builders to help with the rebuilding work, the problem of getting enough supplies in for the winter, a thousand other questions to which he was now expected to have all the answers. Sigrid had gone to bed some time before, pleading exhaustion, but Tauriel was not even remotely still a child and she had stayed.

“Tauriel,” he said after a while, giving voice to a question he had been considering for some time, “would you teach me to speak your language?”

“Really?” she said, with a smile. “I’m already teaching Sigrid, as it happens, so that she can read the book my King sent her, and I think Bain and Tilda will want to learn once they realise she knows something they don’t.”

Bard nodded, with an answering smile; Sigrid and Tauriel had struck up a firm friendship by now, and the Elf-woman seemed to have endless time for all three of his children, translating the books Thranduil had sent them, telling stories, beginning to teach Bain how to wield a bow and a sword. Perhaps they were helping her heart heal, as she was helping them recover from the terrible experiences they had undergone. 

“Really,” he said. “I feel - I don’t know, I suppose I feel as though it would probably be a good idea. And I would like to show your King that I am serious about our alliance.”

Tauriel only smiled, and Bard could not tell if she had guessed what he really meant by that; he did not think Sigrid would have told her. Although if she had, perhaps he could risk asking her what Thranduil had said to him, that last night when he had thought that Bard was sleeping. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he thought. 

“What does -“ he frowned, searching for his memory of the words, conscious he was going to mangle their pronunciation, he didn’t have the intonation and they were really just unfamiliar sounds at this point, much as he’d heard a lot of Elvish being spoken in the streets of Dale in the last few weeks, and he could only remember a fragment of what Thranduil had said. “What does ‘meleth-nín’ mean?”

Tauriel’s eyebrows went up, and then she laughed softly. “If I tell you, we will have to stop pretending that I don’t know what is going on between you and my King,” she said, a playful warning in her voice, and Bard groaned. 

“Ah,” he said. “Can we not just pretend it’s an academic exercise, or that I heard it from someone in the street?”

“If you like,” said Tauriel, “but I want you to know that I do not judge you, and I will not tell anyone. Truly I am pleased that he has found someone to warm his cold heart.” She smiled again, and Bard glanced at her to see genuine joy in her eyes. “It means ‘my love’,” she said after a moment, and Bard’s eyes widened. 

“Does it, now,” he said, and blinked, his mind racing. Thranduil had thought he was asleep, but he had still said it; or perhaps that was why he had said it. Now Bard bitterly regretted not having had the courage to speak his heart before Thranduil had left Dale.

“It does,” said Tauriel. “And I am happy for you. I do not think I am wrong in thinking that you feel the same way?”

Bard smiled, coughed slightly, and glanced at her. “You’re not wrong there, no,” he said with a slightly sheepish smile, and Tauriel laughed softly. 

“Then everything makes so much more sense. I don’t know how you have done it, but if he has let you in then I am more than pleased. He has allowed nobody close to him for nearly a thousand years, and - well, you know very well that it did him no favours.”

“That it didn’t,” said Bard, thinking of the terrible loneliness he had sensed in Thranduil, all the pain he had seen and tried to ease, though he didn’t think he could have been all that successful; it surely wasn’t possible to ease a thousand years’ worth of pain in a month’s worth of snatched meetings.

“I was very fond of him when I was a child,” said Tauriel. “He was different then. Perhaps I may dare to hope that he might regain some of his old self.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve got much power to do anything,” said Bard. “I’m still just a bargeman wearing a title that doesn’t belong to him.”

“It belongs to you,” said Tauriel, “and you shouldn’t talk yourself down. My King does not love your title or your station, he loves _you_. And that gives you more power than you realise.”

“I don’t want power,” said Bard, “any kind of it. I just want…” He trailed off, not quite wanting to put it into words.

“I know,” said Tauriel. “And you will see him again soon enough. Let us distract you until then.”

Suddenly Bard realised who he was talking to, and what this conversation must be costing her. “Tauriel, I’m so sorry. Here’s me moping over someone I’ll be seeing again before too long, and there’s you - I’m so sorry.”

Tauriel shook her head. “My situation cannot be helped. Yours can. I will mourn Kíli for the rest of my life, but you - you still have a chance, and that makes everything worthwhile. To see the two of you happy, to see my King happy - that will be a comfort to me.” Her voice caught a little, but her eyes remained dry, and Bard gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile.

“You’re being - well, if you were really as young as you look, which is not all that much older than Sigrid, I’d tell you you’re being incredibly brave, but I don’t want to patronise you, seeing as you’re probably forty times older than I am,” said Bard with a sheepish grin. “But if you ever want to talk to someone who knows what it’s like to lose someone like that - and who’s willing to talk about it - you know where I am.”

“Thank you,” said Tauriel. “I think it is still too near for me to be able to speak of it, but - I will bear it in mind.”

“No problem,” said Bard. “And if I’m not around by the time you’re feeling like talking, try Sigrid. She knows what it’s like too.”

Tauriel blinked, and Bard chuckled.

“Look, my mortality is going to become an issue sooner or later, I might as well be upfront about it. No point running from something I really can’t change. And - and when I’m gone, he’s going to need you. And his son.”

Tauriel nodded sadly. “I do not know if Legolas will ever come back, if I am completely honest with you.”

“Look,” said Bard, suddenly very earnest. “If he hasn’t come back by the time I’m gone, will you go and find him and bring him home? His father is going to need him.”

“I will,” said Tauriel, “I swear it.”

“Thank you,” said Bard, and he leaned over and gripped her hand for a moment, grateful for her friendship, and her dedication to her King and her Prince - her friend.

And later, he sat down and tried to write another letter to Thranduil, though he did not know how to say what he wanted to say, and never had he regretted his lack of education more. He could read and write well enough, but he was not eloquent and he could not make his pen adequately express what he wanted to say to Thranduil. Thranduil’s letters, by contrast, were beautifully written and delicately phrased, saying everything and nothing at all, layers of meaning hiding beneath the words, and Bard would read them and re-read them, wishing he could just be there and say what he felt rather than having to sit down with a pen and paper and try to marshal his thoughts, when all he wanted to write was _I love you I love you I love you_ and _I miss you, I need you, I want to see you, I hunger for you almost beyond all reason_. He was painfully conscious that the letters he managed to write did not convey nearly all of the messages he wanted to send, but he hoped Thranduil would be able to divine at least a little of their meaning from his inadequate words. 

And he kept Thranduil’s letters in his shirt pocket, next to his heart, the thick winter shirt Thranduil had sent him, and their presence there warmed him even on the coldest, wettest days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	20. An Icy Knife Twisting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in his halls, Thranduil questions his sanity, misses Bard, misses Legolas, and waits for the winter to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think Bard's been pining, wait until you see the Drama King. Nobody pines like Thranduil, it turns out. :D
> 
> Chapters 17-21 have been expanded (quite a lot!) from a story I wrote as part of Writers' Month 2020 entitled [So Much To Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714840).

Thranduil spent the winter feeling almost as desolate as he had after Auriel had died. He tried not to show it, but he also tried not to retreat behind his walls of ice again. Of course, there was nobody here who was close enough to him to be admitted behind them, only subjects and staff who would never know the difference, so it was difficult. 

He missed Bard painfully, missed his endless compassion, his caring, the touch of his hands, his skin, that scruffy little beard, the sheepskin coat he wore almost every minute of every day. He missed having him in his bed every night, sleeping in his arms, waking to watch him as he came back to consciousness, that moment of awe as he realised where he was and smiled up at Thranduil, his heart in his eyes. Thranduil was reasonably sure that Bard felt for him what he felt for Bard, but they had not been able to put it into words before he had left. Well, Thranduil might have caught himself murmuring something after Bard had fallen asleep on that last night, but only in his own language, and even if Bard had heard it, he would not have understood.

He often found himself questioning what on earth he thought he was doing, questioning his sanity. Never mind the potential political consequences, to allow himself to become enamoured of a _mortal_ was surely folly beyond all reason. He was not sure of the typical mortal lifespan, but he would only have perhaps forty years before Bard would die, and then what would he do? He had already been through this once and barely survived it, and had ruined all of his other close relationships in the process.

But on the other hand, he had lived nearly six and a half thousand years already. Perhaps this was the Valar’s way of telling him that if he was ready to go, when the time came, they would receive him into Mandos’ Halls; and perhaps then he would see Auriel again.

Although - although how could he leave his home when the forces of evil were growing stronger? How could he lay down his weapons now? The Necromancer in Dol Guldur was Sauron, and though he had been defeated, it was surely only a temporary setback. The hordes of Orcs pouring out of the mountains before Erebor had been an unwelcome indication of the Dark Lord’s strength.

No, he would have to - well, he had only two options. He could cut off this - whatever it was - between himself and Bard, and break both their hearts now, or he could let it develop, and let Bard break his heart when he died. And he could not cut it short now. Not when he had already allowed himself to fall so far. If he broke it off now, the thought of Bard living only a day or two’s ride away, broken-hearted and hurting, would be too much for Thranduil to bear. No. He would see this through to the end, and let the consequences fall as they may.

Bard’s letters provided small bright spots in the darkness of winter. He was not eloquent, and he clearly struggled to think of what to say; most of the letters were variations on a theme of ‘it is cold and wet and everyone is miserable and I am the most miserable of all’, but Thranduil could read between the lines and understand what Bard was trying to say, and that made his heart sing. Bard was miserable because he was uncomfortable with the role that had been thrust upon him, but also because he was missing Thranduil quite dreadfully; he looked forward to spring not only for the better weather but because that was when they would see each other again. His negotiations with the Dwarves for builders and stone to make the buildings safe had gone well, because Sigrid and Tauriel had known just what to say, and that was because they had been studying the book Thranduil had sent them. Bain was becoming a competent archer and swordsman thanks to his textbook, and Tilda was a ray of sunshine who could not stop retelling the tales from the book of Elflings’ stories Thranduil had sent. _I cannot thank you enough for the books_ , Bard wrote more than once, _it was a kindness we did not look for, and we all appreciate it very much_. Which meant, Thranduil thought, _you remembered my children and I take the gesture as it was intended and it warms my heart even now_. 

He was glad he had thought to send the books; the idea had occurred to him on the journey home, as he had thought about his brief meeting with the children, and all Bard had said about them. Sigrid with her keen political sense, Bain and his interest in learning archery and swordcraft, Tilda and her endless curiosity and love of stories. By the time he had reached his quarters he had settled upon the books he would send; the political treatise for Sigrid was easy, and the Woodland Guard’s textbook for Bain was an obvious choice. Tilda’s book took more thought, but then he had remembered the collection of tales that Legolas and Tauriel had loved when they were small, and he hoped it had brought back happy memories for Tauriel as she read the stories to Tilda, as well as entertaining Bard’s little girl. Besides, Legolas would have no further use for it.

The thought felt like an icy knife twisting, now that he was alone, without Bard’s calm certainty that everything would be all right eventually. The pain of his separation from his son, the knowledge that it was his own fault, had returned as he had ridden away from Dale, and now it was ever-present. Legolas might not ever return to him, and he would have good reason not to.

Thranduil wandered his halls alone, for now the only ones who might have walked with him were gone, entirely through his own fault. There was, he supposed, no reason to build his walls back up, for there was nobody here to reach beyond them. And if he could survive the winter without them, perhaps he would not need them again.

The snow fell thickly after the solstice, and lasted for weeks; Thranduil could not help worrying about Bard and his family in Dale, exposed on that hilltop. He had sent the warm clothing from the stores in his halls, he had sent firewood, and food, but he worried it was not enough. He worried that Dáin would not prove easy to reason with, and that Bard’s inexperience at negotiation would tell against him. He worried that they had not been able to make enough dwellings safe and habitable before the winter. 

This was something new, Thranduil thought to himself. He did not worry about the fortunes of others, much less a town full of mortals to whom he owed no loyalty, no debt of honour. Why should he care whether the people of Dale survived the winter or not?

But Bard cared, and so now Thranduil cared, too, it seemed, because if something terrible happened to the people of Dale, it would cause Bard pain, and Thranduil found that he could not quite bear the thought of what it would do to Bard if his people froze or starved. So when he had reached his home, for a second time he had sent a gift of provisions which was not at all altruistic. The first time he had wanted to secure the gems he had never had the chance to give to his wife; and the second time, he had wanted to ease Bard’s burdens, wanted to minimise the risk of him losing any more of his people. Thranduil could not save those who had fallen in the battle, neither his people nor Bard’s, but he could try to keep anyone who had survived the fighting from dying of cold or of hunger over the lean winter months.

Only one messenger made the journey through the snow at its deepest, but the message she brought was enough to lift Thranduil’s spirits. _My dear Thranduil,_ Bard had written - they had dispensed with titles early on, and Thranduil had only used them in the first place to remind Bard that now they stood on a level together - _the snow is piled high in the streets here but the firewood you sent is serving us well and there is enough debris here that will burn. Master Bofur has rigged us up a couple of furnaces and some braziers, and though we mostly have enough houses made safe most people are sleeping in the great hall for warmth, and the clothing you sent has been invaluable. The children are greatly enjoying playing in the snow, and it will amuse you to hear that they are sculpting snow Elves in the city squares, as well as snow Dwarves, and then they build snow Orcs and knock them all down with snowballs._ Thranduil could not help a chuckle at the image that brought to his mind, and an affectionate smile at Bard’s next words. _Tauriel and Tilda scored a glorious victory in a skirmish against Bain and Sigrid, and although I tried to keep out of the way, they then all scored a glorious victory against me._ Thranduil chuckled again at the thought of Bard being buried beneath a volley of snowballs, all of them laughing and enjoying the snow. _Tauriel seems a little happier, and she and Sigrid have formed a firm alliance. She teaches Bain and his friends how to fight, and she reads stories to Tilda and helps her make up stories of her own. All of my children love her dearly and I have come to value her as a friend. Well, I must close now, for the messenger is wanting to leave and it has taken me longer than I would like to admit to write this. I miss you still, and I long for winter’s end so that I may visit you, if you still want me to come. As ever, I am yours - Bard._

Thranduil, alone in his chambers, held the letter against his heart and closed his eyes, feeling suddenly a little overwhelmed. Apart from the last few sentences it was a matter-of-fact letter, no grand declarations or sweet nothings, but no flowery love-letter could have made his heart turn over like this one. It was as though Bard were here, speaking to him, he could almost hear the soft lilt of his voice; his gentle amusement at the children’s fun in the snow, his reassurance that the gifts Thranduil had sent his people were being well used, and his understanding that Thranduil would like to hear news of Tauriel, for all that she was officially banished. And the frank admission that he had struggled to write the letter, and his lingering fear that Thranduil would change his mind about inviting him to visit - as soon as the snow melted, Thranduil thought, he would write at once and make the necessary arrangements. And most of all, the simple closing line, so straightforward and open. Surely the winter must be over soon, Thranduil thought, for he did not think he could bear this separation for very much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	21. I Will Be Waiting For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring finally arrives, and with it an invitation for Bard and his family to visit the Woodland Realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 17-21 have been expanded (quite a lot!) from a story I wrote as part of Writers' Month 2020 entitled [So Much To Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25714840).

The snow was almost gone from the streets of Dale when the messenger from the Woodland Realm arrived, only the last drifts piled up in corners stubbornly remaining. Bard was halfway up a wall steadying a piece of scaffold that Bofur and his colleagues were rigging up, and had to climb down rather inelegantly to greet the Elf, who was waiting patiently and with a slight air of amusement. 

When he had got himself safely back down to street level, the Elf saluted, and Bard nodded, hoping it wasn’t obvious how loudly his heart was beating at the thought of a message from Thranduil. There had been nothing since the middle of the snows, and although Bard knew, rationally, that the weather was the reason, he hadn’t been able to silence the sneaking voice in the back of his mind that wanted to tell him that Thranduil had forgotten him, that it had only ever been a matter of time, that he had been an idiot ever to think that the Elvenking would ever, could ever, actually care for him. Now he told it firmly, triumphantly to shut up, and took the sealed fold of paper from the messenger, collaring a passing child to go and find Tauriel so that she could come to see her compatriot and show him to the guest quarters set aside for Elven messengers. The boy pelted off and soon Tauriel was running up the street, her face lighting up as she recognised the messenger as a friend. Bard left them to it, beating a hasty retreat back to the little house he shared with the children and Tauriel, eager to open the letter and find what Thranduil had to say. He did not quite dare to hope that it would be the long-awaited invitation to visit the Woodland Realm.

Carefully he opened the letter, sliding his pocketknife under the seal as he always did, and unfolded the paper, smoothing his fingers over the writing before he sank into his chair by the fireplace and began to read. 

_My dear Bard_ , Thranduil wrote, _the snow has been gone from the forest for a week or two now, and I trust that the roads between here and Dale are now clear, if it has not all melted yet with you. I am taking this to mean that spring is now here, and it is therefore high time the Lord of Dale paid his first diplomatic visit to my kingdom. I trust he will also bring his family, and my ambassador._

Bard stopped reading for a moment, his heart leaping. It was spring, or at least, Thranduil had declared it to be spring, and therefore spring it was.

Then he read on. _I am looking forward greatly to your visit; the winter here has been long and lonely and I have missed you every day, and more especially at night. I long to hold you in my arms again, to feel your hands in my hair, your skin against mine. Send the messenger back with your answer, then set out whenever suits you. I will be waiting for you. Always yours - Thranduil._

Bard drew in a deep breath, and then another, resisting the temptation to rush and start packing his bags right away. He would not send the messenger back without a good meal and a night’s sleep, and he needed to give him a chance to get back before he and the children turned up at the gates of the Woodland Realm. But he would not wait too long; he could not, not after all this time.

He needed to write a reply, he thought, and for once he knew he would not struggle to write it. Sitting at the little desk in the corner where he and Sigrid spent many an evening poring over plans for the rebuilding and documents drawn up for the negotiations with Dáin, he took a fresh sheet of paper, uncapped the ink pot, dipped in his pen and began to write. It would not be a long letter, for he only had one thing he needed to say. 

_Thranduil - I am coming! By the time you read this I will be perhaps no more than a day or two from you. I will see you before you know it. Your Bard._

He flapped the paper in the air to dry the ink, then folded it up and lit a candle to warm the sealing wax, pressing a blob of it onto the overlapping edge of the paper and waiting for it to cool a little. Then he pressed his thumb into it, because he had no seal, and put it into his pocket with the letter from Thranduil, alongside all the others he had received over the winter. He would give it to the messenger tomorrow, but he could not have waited to write it.

Two days later they were packing their things, and the day after that they rode out of Dale on horses - and a pony for Tilda - bought from a passing horse-trader with some of the gold from Erebor, which Dáin was grudgingly paying in instalments. The trader had come by only the week before, heading south to Rohan and Gondor as the weather eased, and the intention had been that the horses would be able to work, as well as providing mounts for the Lord of Dale and his family for any diplomatic visits they might need to make, but Bard thanked the stars for his timing, for if he had left it a week or two later, they would have been walking to the Woodland Realm.

All during the packing and the setting out Sigrid and Tauriel were exchanging meaningful looks every time they thought his back was turned, which would have driven him to distraction only he was too busy being happy at the thought of seeing Thranduil again; which was almost certainly the cause of the meaningful looks, but Bard could not quite bring himself to care. The preparations passed in a blur, and the journey, though long, did not seem nearly as much of a hardship as he had expected. Bard was pleased that Thranduil had indicated that Tauriel was permitted to accompany them, though the way he had phrased it made it clear that she was to return to Dale when the visit was over, her banishment still being in force. On the whole it felt rather like a holiday, for it was just the five of them, riding by day and camping by night in a tent salvaged from the ruins of Lake-town, and it did Bard’s heart good to see his children’s wonder at the world they had not yet had the chance to experience. Tauriel taught them to shoot rabbits and catch fish, and forage for herbs and fruits, and she told them tales of her home around the campfire each night, so by the time they actually reached the Woodland Realm Bard was by no means the only one in a permanent state of suppressed excitement.

An escort of Elves met them at the borders and brought them in by what Tauriel, under her breath so the children would not hear, told Bard was the safest road, furthest away from the parts of the forest that were infested by spiders. The path wound between the trees, and Bard and the children craned their necks to see all they possibly could see of this unfamiliar forest. Well, Bard had been up the river many times before, but he had never been on the road, and the children had never been here before at all. 

“It’s like the forests in the fairy tales, Da,” whispered Tilda as she nudged her pony alongside Bard’s horse; Bard thought he caught a smile flitting across the face of one of the Elves escorting them.

“It does feel a little bit magical, doesn’t it, kitten?” he murmured, reaching out to ruffle her hair. 

“Like there are Elves in the trees ready to come out at any moment and enchant us,” she giggled, “only they already have.”

Sigrid caught this, and she gave Bard yet another of her meaningful looks. “Perhaps if there’s any enchanting going on, it might be coming from both sides,” she said. “After all, we’re unfamiliar to them, like they’re unfamiliar to us. You never know, they might find us quite interesting.”

The Elf who had smiled at Tilda’s words gave another smile at this, though none of the others reacted; Bard supposed that only a few of them spoke or understood Westron. “If I may, my Lady,” she said after a moment, “you are correct. We have had very little to do with the race of Men for a long time, and although many of us do not speak your tongue, those of us who do would, I am sure, greatly enjoy talking to you and your family about your lives and how you see the world.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, “well, I am very keen to learn about your people, though Tauriel has told me many things already. She is teaching me to speak your language, but I’m not very good at it yet.” She smiled, and eased her horse up to ride alongside the she-Elf. “I would gladly exchange as much knowledge as you wish for. I know I have a lot to learn about our allies.”

 _She speaks as though she is already Lady of Dale_ , thought Bard with an affectionate smile. Sigrid’s determination to learn everything she could about politics, about their allies and about how to lead her people left him feeling immensely proud, and perhaps a bit bewildered. Back in Lake-town she had long settled into the role of his little housekeeper, and he had known even then that she was capable of far more; but just how much he was only now beginning to realise.

Sigrid passed the rest of the journey talking to their Elven escort, while Bain rode with Tauriel, who was explaining some of the techniques of the Woodland Guard now that she had practical examples to show him; Bain was gradually getting over his awkwardness where she was concerned, Bard thought, probably aided by her matter-of-fact manner with him and the many hours they had spent training together, along with the other youngsters who wanted to learn to fight.

And Bard rode alongside Tilda, who was endlessly fascinated by everything she saw and chattered happily as they made their way along the road. She was developing an affinity with the natural world, Bard thought, now that she had had a chance to see it, and apparently along the way she had informed Tauriel that she didn’t want to eat rabbits any more, having seen several of them shot and then roasted over the campfire for dinner. Fish from the streams were all right, apparently, as long as she did not have to see them being prepared, but the rabbits, who came to the campfire still ‘wearing their clothes’ as she put it, and had to be unclothed before they could be cooked and turned into something not recognisable as the furry, living creatures they had been before, had affected her quite deeply.

All in all, Bard thought, he could be thankful that his children had adjusted to their new life so well, and had come through their terrible experiences more or less unscathed. There had been a few nightmares in the early weeks, once the immediate terror of the battle had receded into the background during the day, at least, finding its way out at night instead, but they had settled soon enough, and now they seemed to be thriving, Sigrid with her politics, Bain with his combat and Tilda with her stories. He hoped Maudie knew, wherever she was.

As Bard was thinking of how his children were adapting, they came suddenly to a clearing in the trees, and before them was a bridge leading towards a beautifully ornate doorway; they rode across the bridge and the doors swung open to admit them and then - and then - they were inside the Elvenking’s halls. Some of their escort took their horses, and then all of a sudden there was Thranduil coming down a flight of steps, resplendent in silver and grey and looking more beautiful than Bard thought he’d ever seen him. And he was smiling, still regal but warm, and stepping forward to greet them with that damned salute again, the heart, the inclined head, and it was all Bard could do not to catch him up in his arms in front of his children and Tauriel and all the other Elves. 

“My Lord of Dale,” said Thranduil, with that little secret smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the one that was always there when he used Bard’s title, “my Lady Sigrid, my Lord Bain, my Lady Tilda. Welcome to the Woodland Realm.” He spread his arms wide, the sleeves of his robe sweeping outwards like wings, and Bard heard Tilda draw in an awed little gasp. “Tauriel, welcome home, pen-neth. You will want to see your friends.” It was a dismissal, and Tauriel saluted her King and melted away into the shadows; on looking round, Bard realised that their escort had all vanished too, and he and his children were alone with Thranduil. 

Bard nodded awkwardly, wanting to find some polite words but finding his voice was stuck in his throat, and Thranduil stepped forward again to grip his shoulder in that curious Elven greeting Bard had noticed on the streets of Dale. The contact seemed to unlock his tongue, and he drew in a breath, then another, wrapping his fingers around Thranduil’s arm. 

“I have so much I want to say to you,” he whispered, “but I can’t find the words.” He looked up, into Thranduil’s eyes, and found himself completely caught, his breath stolen from him by the warmth and longing he saw there. _He hasn’t forgotten me, he still wants me_ , he thought, and he could not quite help the smile that spread across his face.

From behind him, he heard a sigh. “Just give him a hug, Da,” said Sigrid, sounding the slightest bit long-suffering, “nobody’s left here who’d mind one bit. It’s just us.”

Bard turned his head to see all three of his children looking expectantly at him, and then he had to laugh, as he turned back to see Thranduil looking surprised, but smiling. And so he did what he had wanted to do since the day the Elves had ridden out of Dale, and wrapped his arms around Thranduil and buried his face in his hair. 

“There will be plenty of time later for talking,” murmured Thranduil very softly, pressing a kiss into Bard’s hair. “And perhaps other things too, for do you not recall I told you that my chambers are a long way from any sentries? But for now suffice it to say that I have missed you terribly, and I am delighted beyond words to have you here.”

“I’ve missed you too,” said Bard, “so much.” And he thought he could risk a kiss, a proper one, since all his children apparently knew his secret, and _oh_ , he had waited so long for this. 

“Cover your eyes, Tilda,” said Sigrid; Tilda let out an indignant squawk, and Bain snorted with laughter, and Bard and Thranduil broke apart, laughing too. 

“We’re never going to have any peace again,” said Bard, and Thranduil chuckled. 

“I do have a particularly serviceable set of dungeons,” he said, and all three children squealed with a mixture of delight and horror. “But perhaps they will not be necessary.” He raised his eyebrows at the children, sliding one arm around Bard’s waist, and all three of them giggled, even Sigrid, who was more or less a grown woman now; Bard thought it was probably a good sign if she wasn’t completely above being charmed by his - well, he still wasn’t entirely sure he had a name for what Thranduil was to him, but he had to admit to himself that ‘beloved’ came pretty close. 

“I’m not sure whether to tell you no, or take you up on the offer,” Bard grinned, and all of a sudden he realised that the nerves that had afflicted him ever since they had left Dale had melted away, and somehow he felt easier with Thranduil now than he had at any point before. His children knew, and apparently approved - well, he had known he had Sigrid’s blessing, but he hadn’t mentioned it to Bain and Tilda, so he could only assume that Sigrid had had a quiet word with them - and the long winter was over and he and Thranduil were together again. All was well. And later, he was determined, he was going to tell Thranduil exactly what was in his heart, all of it, every last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written two ficlets featuring Tauriel and Tilda which fit around this chapter: [Complicated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065219), which is set during the winter which is just ending as this chapter begins, in which Tauriel attempts to explain her King to Tilda; and [An Alliance With The Land](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827694), which is set during the family's journey to the Woodland Realm, in which Tilda decides that she'd rather not eat rabbits any more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	22. Something I Must Say To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now they are reunited, Bard finally manages to tell Thranduil what he has spent the winter wanting to tell him.

Thranduil had had millennia of practice at maintaining his composure, and yet when the news came that the Lord of Dale and his family had been spotted approaching the borders of the forest, and their escort set out to meet them, it took all his self-restraint to keep him from leaping upon a horse himself and riding out. He was more capable as a warrior than any of his Woodland Guard, and they would all have been safe with only him as an escort (and Tauriel, of course, he amended in his mind), but appearances must be maintained and this was not only a personal visit but an official one. So he sent the escort, and himself waited in his halls, pacing anxiously until he realised what he was doing; after that he took himself off to his study and applied himself to some particularly dull paperwork. It was not complicated enough to require his full attention, nor was it important enough to matter if he made any mistakes in his distraction, which was definitely a good thing, because he made very little progress with it, always listening for the footsteps of a messenger coming to tell him that his guests were arriving.

Eventually the footsteps came, and again Thranduil drew on all his self-restraint not to run for the main entrance to his halls; he maintained a regal pace all the way there, and had just reached the top of the steps when the doors swung open to admit Bard, his children, Tauriel, and their escort. His guards helped the children to dismount and then took everyone’s horses, melting away silently towards the stables and their other duties. Thranduil watched as Bard and the children looked around and then up, smiling inwardly at the expressions of wonder on all their faces, and then he descended the stairs to welcome them to his home. He could not help his small smile when he addressed Bard by his title; appearances must be maintained, after all, even though the guards had all left, and besides, he thought Bard could do with the occasional reminder of their equal status, especially after so long apart. He especially did not want Bard to fall back into his insecurity, now that he would be witnessing the splendour of Thranduil’s home.

Bard stepped towards him, looking thoroughly awkward, and Thranduil decided to be merciful, stepping forward and gripping his shoulder - for it would have been indecorous and probably unwise to sweep him into an embrace in front of his children - and he felt the tension melt out of Bard’s frame as he placed his hand on Thranduil’s arm.

“I have so much I want to say to you,” Bard whispered, “but I can’t find the words.” And he looked into Thranduil’s eyes, and he smiled, and Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat, how long he had waited for this moment, how much he wanted to hear what Bard had to say.

And then came a distinctly exasperated-sounding sigh from Sigrid as she scolded her father, and then Bard was wrapping his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders and oh, this was what he had needed, _this_ , and he buried his face in Bard’s hair and breathed him in, leaving a kiss there as he drew back just enough to promise, in a low murmur, that there would be time enough for talking and all manner of other things later, and to tell him how much he had missed him. 

Bard returned the sentiment with fervour and then, somewhat to Thranduil’s surprise, kissed him soundly, in front of his children, no less. Sigrid told Tilda to cover her eyes, which made everyone laugh, including Bard, and much to his own surprise, Thranduil himself. He made a joking threat about his dungeons in response to Bard’s resigned statement that they would have no more peace - he made a _joke_ , he could not remember how long it had been since he had last done that - and found that he was gratified and charmed by the children’s reactions, delighted squeals and giggles from all of them, even Sigrid, who was, he was sure, almost an adult by the reckoning of humans. And he found also that it was a relief that Bard’s children apparently all knew about his relationship - if he could call it that, and now he was reasonably sure he could - with their father, and that none of them seemed to mind.

“You must be hungry after your long journey, and tired,” he said, sliding an arm around Bard’s waist and holding him close in to his side. “Tomorrow we will have a formal dinner to welcome you, but today, I think you would probably prefer something quieter.” He glanced sideways to see Bard’s grateful nod, and the children all relaxed a little, looking relieved. “Then I will show you to your rooms, which are near to mine, and you may bathe and change your clothes, and then my valet Galion will bring you to have dinner with me in my chambers.” Protocol be damned, he thought, for he did not want to have to summon someone to show them to rooms he was only going to pass on the way back to his own anyway.

He had had his staff make up a set of chambers on a corridor leading off the way to his own rooms, past the sentries who guarded his chambers night and day: a sitting room, two bedrooms and a bathroom for the children and another bedroom with a bathroom off it for Bard. Not, he hoped, that Bard would be finding himself spending much time in there.

Showing them in through the door, he smiled to see the children’s awed expressions, their eyes wide as saucers as they looked around, taking in every sumptuous detail. This was surely far grander than they had expected, or perhaps even imagined, given the simplicity of their upbringing, and he was glad to be able to give them a taste of comfortable living while they were still living in the ruins of Dale. Their father would have a fitting residence eventually, but knowing Bard, he would not stand for it happening before the last and poorest of Dale’s residents was adequately housed.

The children scampered off to discover their rooms, and the new clothes laid out on their beds, for he had made sure the tailors had been at work over the winter so that they would have something nice to wear while they were here.

Bard turned to him, the little smile on his lips that Thranduil knew meant he was more than a little overwhelmed. “You’ve done so much for us,” he murmured, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You being here is all I need,” said Thranduil, answering Bard’s smile with one of his own. “And later we will talk, but I think first -”

“First, there is something I really need to say to you,” interrupted Bard, keeping his voice low so that the children would not overhear, although they were far too busy exclaiming over their rooms to notice anything their father was doing. “I should have said it before you left but I was an idiot and I was afraid and I couldn’t -“ he broke off, shook his head, huffing a laugh at himself. “I’m still an idiot. But I want you to know that I love you, with all of my heart, and I’ve missed you _so_ much.”

Thranduil couldn’t quite help raising his eyebrows in surprise - he had hoped for this, but he hadn’t quite expected it so soon after Bard had arrived - but then he remembered Bard’s insecurities and he gathered him into his arms before he could read the wrong thing into his expression, holding him close. “And I love you,” he murmured. “You have stolen my heart clean away, and now it belongs to you.” Leaning back just a little he tilted Bard’s chin up and kissed him, softly, deeply, his eyes falling shut and oh, the relief at finally being able to say it, to put his feelings into words. He had taken leave of his senses, for certain, by his usual reckoning, anyway, but he could not bring himself to care.

After a while - it could have been a moment or an hour, he had lost track - there came a soft cough, and Sigrid’s voice, sounding distinctly amused.

“Save it for later, Da,” she said, more gently than her words might have implied. “I know you’re very pleased to see each other, but if you keep this up none of us will get any dinner. I mean no offence,” she added, to Thranduil, and he had to laugh.

“And I take none, my Lady, for you are quite right. I will leave you all to it, and I will send Galion to bring you to me in an hour.” He smiled at her, and she bobbed a curtsey, sending him a mischievous smile in return, and went back to her siblings. 

Bard sighed, grinning a little sheepishly. “I suppose she has a point,” he said. “Go on, and I’ll see you for dinner. And - after -“

“After dinner you will settle your children to sleep, and then I hope you will come to me,” said Thranduil, “as we were accustomed to doing in Dale.”

“Of course I will,” said Bard. “I couldn’t stay away, not now I’m actually here with you.”

“Then I will look forward to it,” said Thranduil, leaning forward to brush another kiss across Bard’s mouth, and then stepping back firmly. “You will find a bath already drawn for you in your room,” he said, “and I will leave you to it, otherwise I will be too tempted to join you.”

Bard chuckled. “Go on with you,” he said with a smile. “Or I’ll make you join me.”

“Do not tempt me,” said Thranduil, and then he made himself leave the room, closing the door behind him and making his way to his chambers, his heart singing. 

_He loves me, he loves me, though all the odds may be stacked against us, he loves me and later he will come to me and we will not be overheard…_ All the long months of waiting, of loneliness, they had all been worth it, every moment. Now he only had to wait another hour, then they would all have dinner together and then - well, then he would have time together with Bard, undisturbed, and _that_ would truly be worth the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	23. One of Us Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard gets ready for dinner, and has an important conversation with his children.

Bard watched Thranduil go, and then turned to go and take a look at the room he had been given. Like all of them, it had been carved out of the rock, but so skilfully that it was hard to believe that these beautiful halls had once been a simple set of caves. Patterns of leaves and vines had been carved into the stone creating arches and frames, and the patterns were echoed in the wooden frame of the great bed which stood in the middle of the room. The bedclothes were of a thick, wine-red velvet, and the curtains hung around the frame were of the same fabric, all of them embroidered in golden thread with further patterns of vines and leaves; and upon the covers lay a suit of clothes in shades of dark blue, embroidered in silver, finer than any Bard had seen in his life until he had met Thranduil. 

The bed looked comfortable, inviting, and Bard had to suppress a yawn just looking at it; he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept well. Though he and his family now had a house to live in, their beds were not comfortable, being simple straw-stuffed mattresses on wooden boards, just as they had been in Lake-town; and he had found the nights lonely and empty without Thranduil, and it had been difficult to sleep soundly on his own, much as he had been used to it before he had come to know (to love, he thought to himself with a delighted smile, to _love_ ) the King of the Woodland Realm. 

But now was not the time to sleep (and nor would tonight be, or not at first, at least, if he had read Thranduil correctly, which he was fairly sure he had). Now was the time for bathing and dressing and dining with his family and his lover - and just the thought of that word made his heart feel warm. Bard looked around, and saw that an archway on the other side of the room gave onto another room containing a carved stone bathtub which was filled with gently steaming water. A hot bath was a luxury almost beyond measure, for even in Lake-town, although there had been a bath-house, Bard had not often had the money for his family to use the facilities there. They were mostly used to cold splash-washes standing up in the corner of the kitchen, or a basin of warm water if the children had got themselves particularly filthy; and in the summer they would bathe in the lake. And since they had ended up in Dale it had been splash-washes only, for the bath-houses were in ruins and although some of the pipework was apparently fairly serviceable, according to Bofur, the rest of it was broken beyond repair and would need complete replacement once Dáin had been persuaded to lend them a plumber or two. 

Bard could hear his children’s delighted exclamations as they, presumably, discovered the bath that had been drawn for them, muffled giggles and splashes, and he smiled as he stripped off his dusty travelling clothes - well, they were the clothes he had been wearing all winter, his faithful sheepskin coat and gloves, his old breeches and shirt, with the Elven winter shirt over it and a jacket over that beneath the coat - and climbed gingerly into the bath, sinking down into the warm water with a sigh. He could stay here all night, he thought, except that there were other delights waiting for him, and he definitely did not want to miss those. Besides, he thought this would not be the last opportunity to have a bath like this during his stay, and perhaps the next time he might be able to persuade Thranduil to join him.

There was a bar of soap resting on the side of the bath, along with a bottle of something that smelled herbal and clean and familiar, and after a moment Bard recognised it as the scent that often clung to Thranduil’s hair. He smiled at the thought of it, and then got on with washing himself and his hair; no more grubby bargeman, he thought to himself with some satisfaction, now he could finally appear before Thranduil looking slightly more like the lord he was supposed to be; albeit with Thranduil’s help every step of the way, but he was not proud and he knew he had no other means of acquiring such an appearance. Ducking himself entirely under the water, he rinsed himself off and then got out of the bath, reaching for the towel hanging ready on a rail nearby and wrapping it around himself; it was soft and warm and again he thought he might quite happily bundle himself up in it and not want to move for a long while, except that he had other places to be.

He padded through to the bedroom and examined the clothing on the bed as he finished drying himself off and began to dress. Soft leggings that fastened with laces, socks made of something like silk, so thin and soft were they, a long-sleeved undershirt and a tunic with silver clasps at the neck to go over it, a jacket to go over that, and a pair of leather boots that came up almost to his knees and folded over at the top; Bard pulled everything on and looked down at himself, feeling self-conscious and more than a little underdressed without the many layers he usually wore for warmth, without his old faithful sheepskin coat. But he did not need to dress for cold weather here, for the corridors and chambers were pleasantly warm. He was thankful, though, that the tunic and jacket fell to the middle of his thighs, for any higher and he would have felt almost naked; he was also thankful that there was no robe for him to put on, for he thought it would not suit him and he would be perpetually worrying about standing on it or tripping over it.

He fetched a slim wooden box out of the inside pocket of his sheepskin coat; it had been there since the moment he had retrieved it from Dáin, and he had not let it out of his presence, but now was the time to pass it on to its rightful owner. He checked the jacket he was wearing and found it, too, had an inside pocket, so he slipped the box into it. He would find an opportunity to hand it over later.

Once dressed, Bard realised that he should probably do something about his hair, which was still damp though he’d rubbed most of the water out of it. Glancing across the room, he saw that there was a table against the wall with a looking-glass upon it, and a comb and a glass bottle. Investigating the contents of the bottle, he found it was filled with an oil of the same scent as the cleansing stuff in the bathroom, but he was not quite sure of its purpose, so he left it be and settled for tugging the comb through his hair and then tying it back up with the strip of leather he always used to keep it held back out of his eyes. He glanced into the mirror and thought he looked presentable enough, so then he went to see how his children were getting on.

Sigrid and Tilda were in their room, lacing each other into long dresses, Sigrid’s a dusky rose colour and Tilda’s a muted lavender, and Bain was just doing up his boots in his doorway, finishing off an outfit that was similar to Bard’s, leggings and undershirt and tunic, though his were in a deep forest green similar to that worn by the Woodland Guard. The lad’s hair was all over the place, a scruffy mop halfway between Bard’s own hair and his mother’s riotous curls, and Bard gestured him over. 

“Come here, Bain, you can’t have dinner with the King with your hair looking like that,” he said, and he took up the comb that lay on the table just inside Bain’s door, carefully drawing it through his son’s hair and working out the tangles until it was tidy, or at least, as tidy as it was ever going to get while it wasn’t long enough to tie up. Then he turned his attention to the girls. Both of them still had their hair loose, tumbling down their backs in slightly damp curls and waves, and Bard smiled to see how much they both resembled Maudie. 

“How are you getting on, girls?” he asked, standing in the doorway to their room. “Sigrid, do you want to do Tilda’s hair and I’ll do yours?”

“Good idea, Da,” said Sigrid, finishing off the fastenings of Tilda’s dress. “Tilda, do you want two plaits or one?”

“One please,” said Tilda. “I’m not a baby any more.”

“All right,” said Sigrid, reaching for the comb on their looking-glass table and working it carefully through Tilda’s hair. “Da, can you do mine in two, but close together at the back of my head so I can pin them round?”

“Can do,” said Bard, using the comb from Bain’s room to ease the knots out of Sigrid’s hair and smooth it into place so that he could make the two plaits she asked for. He’d soon learned, when Sigrid was little and Maudie had her hands full with Bain, and now he had had enough practice with both his girls that he could produce fairly creditable and intricate braids if he needed to. He plaited Sigrid’s long hair into two neat plaits and then reached for the pile of hairpins she’d removed earlier and crossed the braids over, fixing each of them round the back of her head like a crown. 

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said, drawing both of them into a hug, “and so do you, kitten. Bain, you look quite the young lord.”

Bain shuffled his feet, but Sigrid stood back and looked Bard up and down with an appraising expression on her face that shifted into a smile as she took him in.

“Da, you look wonderful,” she said. “Very handsome. I think you’ll sweep the King right off his feet, not that you haven’t already.”

“Give over, love,” said Bard, awkwardly, while Bain made an uncomfortable sort of noise and Tilda giggled. 

“I mean it,” said Sigrid. “Those clothes suit you so well. I think a lot of thought went into choosing them.” She gave Bard one of her meaningful looks, and he laughed softly. 

“Not just for my clothes,” he said. “I think we all have something to thank the King for.”

“Oh yes,” said Tilda, twirling around in the middle of the floor. “I’ve never had a dress as pretty as this ever, and Sigrid, you look like a princess in my story book, and Bain, you look like a prince.” She giggled, and Bard smiled. 

“You all look like royalty,” he said. “Which I suppose we all are now, so we’d better learn to behave like it, and in the meantime hope the King doesn’t mind us not being used to eating dinner in such a grand setting.”

“I think he’d forgive you almost anything,” said Sigrid, and Bard couldn’t help smiling at that.

“I wouldn’t want to push it,” he said, and then he went to scrub his hand through his hair, thought better of it and smoothed his palm over it instead. “Look, do you mind - is it all right with you three, how things are with me and him? I mean, I think Sigrid approves, but Bain and Tilda, how do you feel about it?”

Bain shrugged and shuffled his feet, but Tilda stopped her twirling and came to wrap her arms around Bard’s waist. “I think it’s nice,” she said, smiling up at him. “He’s ever so pretty, and I think he makes you happy, so I like him.”

“I’m glad, kitten,” said Bard, relieved. “Bain? If you’re not happy, just say.”

“No, I think it’s good,” said Bain eventually. “I don’t really remember Mam, but I think you’ve waited long enough to find someone else to make you happy.”

Bard smiled. “I’ll take that. Thank you, all of you. I don’t know - well, I don’t really know what will happen, but he does make me happy. Very happy.”

“Well, then that’s all that matters,” said Sigrid. “You’re happy, we’re happy, I think he’s happy.” She giggled. “I’m not sure he knows what he’s letting himself in for, though, putting himself in a position to be adopted by all of us.”

“Go easy on him,” said Bard. “I think his experience of having a family has been very different to ours, and he’s been on his own a long time, even when his son was here.”

“We’ll look after him,” said Tilda. “He’s one of us now.”

“That’s what’s worrying me,” said Bard with a chuckle, and all three of his children rolled their eyes at him. “Anyway, are we ready to go?”

The children nodded, and Bard smoothed his hands over his tunic, still feeling self-conscious. All of this was going to take some getting used to, but he was looking forward to giving it a try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	24. A Most Delightful Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and his children have dinner with the King, and the children commence Operation Adoption.

There was a knock at the door that led out to the hallway, and Bard looked at his children, suddenly nervous.

“I suppose that’s our cue to go and behave ourselves,” he said with a smile to cover up his nerves, and Sigrid tucked her hand through his elbow. 

“Come on, Da. You already know he likes you, there’s nothing to worry about. We’ll all behave, won’t we?” And she gave her siblings a fierce look; both of them nodded, and Bain offered Tilda his arm, much to Bard’s surprise. 

They went to the door and Bard pulled it open to see a smartly-dressed Elf standing in the corridor, looking a little surprised; oh, perhaps he should have waited inside the room and told him to come in? Well, his background was well known, if he was not familiar with all the intricacies of court etiquette, they would have to accept it. 

The Elf bowed. “My Lords, my Ladies, my name is Galion, and I am valet to the King. Would you be so good as to come with me, so that you may dine with His Majesty in his chambers?”

“It would be our pleasure,” said Bard, thanking his stars that he had had some practice at diplomacy during the initial negotiations with Dáin over the winter, and Galion bowed again and led them along the corridor to a door larger and more ornate than the others. Pausing outside he knocked, and when Thranduil’s voice came from inside, speaking in his own language of course, Galion pushed the door open and ushered them in.

“My Lord of Dale and his children, your Majesty,” he said, and Thranduil rose from the chair where he had been sitting to come and greet them. 

“Welcome,” he said, every inch the King, and Bard felt suddenly very intimidated, glancing around at the sumptuous luxury of Thranduil’s chambers, grander by far even than the rooms they had been given, but then Thranduil was dismissing Galion, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, Thranduil smiled warmly. “There,” he said, “now we are alone and I may be a little less formal with you all. Please come to sit down.”

He ushered them through to a room containing a round table set for dinner with five places, dishes filled with food already laid out, and goblets, and three flagons. The children took their places, leaving two chairs next to each other for Bard and Thranduil, and Bard had to smile at their absolute transparency. He took his chair, for he certainly would not complain, and Thranduil sat next to him, an amused smile on his lips.

“Now,” said Thranduil, “we have wine for ourselves, and there is fruit nectar for Tilda, and then perhaps Bain and Sigrid might like fruit nectar, or wine with water?”

Bain and Sigrid both looked at Bard, and he paused for a moment to think. “Sigrid may choose. Bain should probably have the fruit nectar.” 

Bain looked somehow relieved, and Bard surmised that he probably did not like the taste of wine yet, although who knew how he had found that out. Sigrid considered for a moment, and then came to a decision.

“I’d like to try the wine, please. But plenty of water, too, please, because I’m not used to it.”

 _Good girl_ , thought Bard. Ever more mature than he had been at that age, for certain. 

Thranduil poured their drinks for them, watering Sigrid’s wine carefully, and inwardly Bard marvelled at it, the very grand Elvenking pouring for them and not having a servant to do so for him; they had been admitted directly to his inner circle, and Bard thought that it probably had a lot to do with how alone he had been for so long. Now he had a ready-made family prepared to accept him and draw him into their own inner circle, make him part of it, and Bard thought that Thranduil might not realise what he was doing, or why, but that he would not regret it when he had worked it out.

The food was delicious, and Thranduil drew the children into conversation; if he felt any nervousness at the unfamiliarity of dealing with human children at close quarters, especially children who were so important as these three, he did not show it, and Bard supposed if he was thousands of years old he probably had a lot of diplomatic experience in dealing with unfamiliar situations and people. Sigrid talked about the differences she had noticed between Dale and the Woodland Realm and their respective peoples, Tilda wanted to talk about the fairy stories in the book Thranduil had sent her, and Bain, after some encouragement, told Thranduil about the training Tauriel was giving him and the other older children in archery and swordcraft. Thranduil made conversation with them without once being patronising, and Bard just sat back and watched, smiling to see how well they all got on. 

“Oh,” said Tilda after a little while, “I forgot, we have to say thank you to you for the dresses. And I _want_ to say thank you, too, because it’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen and I feel like a princess in it.” She beamed at Thranduil, and Bard glanced at him to see a warm, genuine smile upon his face.

“Yes,” said Sigrid, “thank you for my dress. It’s lovely. And for the books you sent us, too. We like them very much.”

Bain only nodded, tongue-tied again, but Thranduil did not seem to mind.

“I am glad you like them,” he said. “As for the books, I thought you might find it interesting to learn a little about how we do things, and as for the clothing, I know that you have not exactly had access to good tailors yet, so I thought I might take the liberty of beginning your royal wardrobes.”

Sigrid smiled brightly. “It is very kind of you. The only nice fabrics in Lake-town were reserved for the Master and of course now they are all burned. The traders haven’t started to come to Dale yet, but I hope we will have some opportunities to get everyone some more clothes before too long.”

And they fell back into conversation about trading, and alliances, and the rebuilding of Dale’s commerce and its people, beyond the simple stonework, and Bard mostly just listened, though he chimed in every now and then; but mostly he thought that this was a good opportunity for Sigrid to learn directly from Thranduil, and he himself could learn more by listening to them both. They worked their way through the remaining courses as they talked, and Bard thought he had never eaten such wonderful food in all of his life.

But soon enough they had all eaten their fill and Tilda, at least, was trying to hide her yawns behind her hand. 

“I think it might be bedtime for certain people,” said Bard lightly, and Tilda immediately perked up. 

“No, Da, I’m not tired,” she said as brightly as she could, though the effect was ruined almost immediately by another yawn, even wider than the last.

“Yes you are,” said Bard. “Anyone else?”

Bain and Sigrid both shook their heads, and Bard wavered; should he take all of his children off to bed, or just Tilda - but then she should not be left alone. But then he could not leave her falling asleep in her chair at the table. He was not quite sure what he should do.

Thranduil stepped in with a solution. “Perhaps Tilda would like to have a lie down on the chaise by the fire?” he suggested, gesturing towards the outer room where he had been sitting when they arrived. 

Tilda shook her head first, declaring that she was fine, but then she yawned again, and Thranduil stood, reaching out a hand to her. 

“It is a very comfortable chaise,” he said, “and you will be just outside so you will still be able to hear everything we talk about, but you will be able to rest your head. How does that sound?”

“All right,” said Tilda, and she put her hand in Thranduil’s and slid down from her chair, letting him lead her out to the other room; if Bard craned his neck he could see Thranduil settling her on the chaise with a pillow under her head and a cover over her, and it warmed his heart to see it. 

Thranduil returned to the table and the conversation resumed; now Sigrid and Bain were both talking about the differences they had observed between Dale and the Woodland Realm, and Bain was expressing his admiration for the Elven army and the Woodland Guard. Thranduil listened and nodded and explained this point or that one, and again Bard mostly just sat and watched and listened to them, occasionally glancing out to check on Tilda, who was fast asleep on the chaise. 

And eventually Bain began yawning too, and Sigrid’s eyelids started drooping, and Bard stepped in again.

“Now I really think it is bedtime,” he said, and to their credit, neither of them argued. 

“Sorry,” said Sigrid around a yawn, mostly hidden behind her hand. “It’s just been a very long day.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil. “This has been a most delightful evening, and I am very pleased to have been able to get to know you all a little. Will you carry Lady Tilda back to her bed, or would you like me to do so?” He quirked an eyebrow at Bard, and Bard smiled. 

“I think I can manage her,” he said, “but thank you.”

And so Bard carried Tilda back to their rooms, trailed sleepily by Bain and Sigrid, and Thranduil watched them go from his doorway; Bard glanced back at him once, and saw him smiling, heard his whispered words as Bard had passed him in the doorway, “come to me when you have settled them,” and he knew he could do nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	25. A Gesture Of Good Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, Bard has brought something from Erebor that he wants to give to Thranduil; he just hopes that Thranduil will not misunderstand his motives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where we discover what it is that Tilda and Tauriel were alluding to in [An Alliance With The Land](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25827694) when they mentioned Bard bringing something for the Elvenking. :D

Tilda and Bain settled easily - well, with Tilda it was just a case of setting her on the bed, getting her into a nightgown and pulling the covers up around her - but Sigrid had perked up by the time they reached their chambers, and made no move to go to bed right away.

“I’ll be all right, Da,” she said, “I’m going to sit and read for a bit,” and she gestured to the bookshelf on the wall between her bed and Tilda’s, which bore several volumes of varying thicknesses. “Some of them are in Westron, and then some are children’s books in Elvish, I think, I was looking at them earlier, and they’re simple enough that I can understand most of them.” 

Bard smiled, a little overwhelmed yet again at the effort Thranduil had gone to for his children. “All right, sweetheart,” he said, and Sigrid grinned.

“Go on,” she said, “you know you’re dying to go back to him, and you can’t tell me I’m wrong. We’ll be fine, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Bard gave her a sheepish grin. “Thank you, sweetheart. For everything you do, for me and for these two.” He hugged her close for a moment, and kissed her hair.

“All part of the service,” she said with a smile. “Now, be off with you, and don’t you dare come back until breakfast.”

“All right, all right, I’m going,” he said, laughing, and he left her to her books, making his way back along the corridor. 

Thranduil’s door was open, but he was no longer standing in the doorway; Bard edged into the room, suddenly feeling a little nervous, for tonight they had none of the reasons for restraint which they had had in Dale, and so they would have the opportunity to take certain steps, do certain things which they had not been able to do before. Things which Bard had never done before, and although he wanted to, _oh_ , he wanted to, he could not help feeling a little bit anxious about them. And the slim wooden box in his pocket; he was nervous about the reception that would get, and weighing up the best time to hand it over, how to explain it so that Thranduil would not misunderstand him…

Glancing round he saw that Thranduil was reclining in one of the armchairs by the chaise where Tilda had been sleeping, his long, long legs stretched out in front of him, and he swallowed hard; oh _Valar_ , he looked so beautiful, so alluring, so…for a moment all he could do was to stare, and then Thranduil looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes, and a dark smile crept across his face, and Bard crossed the room to kneel astride him in the chair, a shiver already making its way across his skin before he had even reached his goal. 

He leaned down to press a kiss to Thranduil’s mouth and bit back a gasp as Thranduil arched up against him, spreading his hands wide against Bard’s back and holding him in place. 

“You look quite delicious,” murmured Thranduil. “It was all I could do not to take you straight to my bed and forgo dinner entirely.” He laughed softly. “If the children had not been there, I promise you that is exactly what I would have done.”

“Well,” said Bard, “they’re all safely tucked up in bed now, except Sigrid who’s reading, and none of them are likely to come looking for me now.” He smiled, and leaned in for another kiss. “So if you wanted to do that now instead, I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil. “But before I take you out of these clothes, I think I would like to appreciate you _in_ them a little more.” He tilted his head, nudging Bard to sit up a little in his lap, his long, elegant fingers fluttering over the jacket, the tunic, sliding up Bard’s thighs in the leggings, brushing over the fastenings under the tunic and making Bard catch his breath, then back up again, until he found the outline of the box in the inside pocket of Bard’s jacket, and his eyebrows quirked upwards. 

“Ah,” said Bard. “I…might have brought you something. A gesture of good faith, from our allies.” He slid the box out of his pocket, suddenly tense, and very conscious that he would have no dignified exit from this situation if Thranduil read his motives wrongly, given that he was still kneeling astride his lap. “Not that I much want to think about them at the moment, but - “ He placed the box in Thranduil’s hands, and held his breath. 

Thranduil smoothed his fingers over the surface of the box, and then found the catch and flicked it open. A soft, white light suffused his face, and for a moment he was absolutely silent, staring at the contents of the box. Then he looked up at Bard, his eyes wide. 

“How did you get this?” he asked, his voice very soft but with an undertone of steel. 

“Long, frustrating negotiation with the King under the Mountain,” said Bard, trying to hide how nervous he was. “It was Sigrid and Tauriel did the trick in the end.”

“And - why?”

Bard scrubbed one hand over his face. “Because I knew you wanted it. Because I love you. And because if there was something of Maudie’s that I could still reach, I would want it almost more than anything. So if I could bring you something to remember Auriel by, I wanted to do it. Besides, it’s an excellent show of faith from the Dwarves, and goodness knows we need allies.”

Thranduil looked down at the contents of the box again, and closed his eyes for a moment. He did not say anything, and Bard first thought that he was offended, or upset, but then he looked more closely and realised that Thranduil’s fingers were trembling, just slightly, as he drew them back and forth above the contents of the box, tracing the outline of the necklace that lay there, his lashes fluttering, his lips bitten together against tremors. Taking his courage in both hands, Bard leaned down to brush a kiss across Thranduil’s forehead. 

“I hope I haven’t done the wrong thing,” he whispered. 

“Not at all,” said Thranduil after a moment, and his voice shook almost imperceptibly. “I simply did not expect - for centuries I have wanted, coveted, _needed_ these gems, and I have never been able to - “ He broke off, and looked up at Bard, his eyes almost, _almost_ swimming with tears. “And yet you walked into the Lonely Mountain and asked for them, and Dáin just handed them over to you.”

“It wasn’t quite as straightforward as that,” said Bard. “I’ll tell you later.”

“And you thought to do it,” murmured Thranduil, “not for gain or for political advantage, but for _me_.” His voice shook a little again.

“Well, it was a nice side-effect, that it might help to strengthen the alliance between our peoples,” said Bard with a slightly sheepish smile, “but yes - really, I did it for you. Because I knew you wanted it so much, and I thought - I thought it might make you happy, a little bit. To have something to remember her by, to have that which you thought was lost to you, as she was.” He kissed Thranduil’s forehead again, softly. “Tauriel told me, there is no grave for her, nowhere for you to go to remember her, and I know how that feels. We burned our dead, in Lake-town, and scattered their ashes on the lake, but I always had the house to remember Maudie by. But now the house is gone too, and I haven’t a single thing of hers, except the children.” 

“Is there no limit to how much you care?” whispered Thranduil. “No lengths you will not go to, for those you -“ 

“For those I love?” said Bard. “For you, and for my children? No limit at all.”

Thranduil drew in a breath and tilted his face up to capture Bard’s lips in a kiss at once soft and definite. “Then I must set this aside for now,” he said, closing the box and placing it very carefully on the small table next to his chair, “for I find that I absolutely must take you to my bed now, and show you how very much I love you.”

Bard smiled, and let out a soft sigh of relief. “Let me kiss you first,” he murmured. “I need to steady my nerves.”

“Why?” asked Thranduil, giving him a considering look. “You thought I might -“

“Misread my motives - yes. I was worried you might think I brought you the necklace to manipulate you, or to have something to hold over you, but I promise that’s not why I did it.”

Thranduil kissed him again. “I know. Because I think I know you well enough by now to know that is not how you think.”

“Oh,” said Bard. “Good.” And he wound his hands into Thranduil’s hair and kissed him hard, deeply, hoping Thranduil could feel his sincerity, and all the love he felt for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> (this ridiculously fluffy story now has over 1000 hits! I am doing a tiny dance of joy, and I want to thank you all for wading through the fluff with me! <33333 )
> 
> Shoutout to citrusro on tumblr, who basically read my mind when they posted [this beautiful piece of art](https://citrusro.tumblr.com/post/629648788020215808/our-star-i-had-the-thought-of-the-reason) last week!


	26. We Have Waited Long Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard take a fairly significant step together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another rating-earning chapter at last!

After a while Thranduil shifted in his chair, nudging Bard to stand up and unfolding himself gracefully to stand before him.

“I trust your nerves are steadier now?” He quirked an eyebrow, and was amused at Bard’s sheepish grin in response.

“More or less,” said Bard, and Thranduil smiled. 

“Then I am going to take you to my bed now,” he said. “I think we have waited long enough.”

“I’m not going to argue with you on that one,” said Bard, and he curled his fingers around Thranduil’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Just show me the way.”

Thranduil nodded, and led him by the hand from the room, through his study and into his bedchamber, turning to close the door firmly behind them. Turning back, he paused to admire the sight Bard made, handsome beyond words in his new clothes, and an awed expression on his face as he took in the splendour of the room. Thranduil hardly noticed it, used as he was to it, but to Bard’s eyes the velvet wall-hangings, the thick, soft carpets, the huge bed hung with heavy velvet curtains, they must all seem luxurious beyond anything he had ever dreamed of. Charmed, Thranduil leaned in to kiss him, and smoothed his hands up under Bard’s jacket, easing it back off his shoulders and down his arms. Bard let him do it for a moment, and then whatever spell was holding him broke, and his hands went almost frantically to the clasps of Thranduil’s robe, the lacing at the neck of his tunic, all the time kissing him as though his life depended upon it. Thranduil responded in kind, suddenly consumed with the need to get him out of his clothes as quickly as possible, to feel his skin again after so long without.

He pushed Bard backwards towards the bed, leaving a trail of clothes across the floor, and when they were down to leggings and boots, Thranduil dropped to his knees to ease Bard’s boots off, and then the leggings, his fingers making short work of the lacing, peeling them down and following the fabric with his hands and his mouth, smiling to himself as he heard Bard’s shuddering gasp, his barely-suppressed moan. 

“You do not need to be quiet any longer,” he said as he rose to his feet and nudged Bard backwards to lie upon the bed, raking his gaze down the whole length of his body, drinking in the sight; he had missed this - missed _him_ \- so much. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, and then he rid himself of his own boots and leggings and joined Bard on the bed, crawling up over him as he had done on that very first night. Only this time - this time there would be no need for restraint, no need to be quiet. He would be careful, for Bard’s lack of experience needed to be taken into account, but there was no longer any reason to fear discovery.

Dipping his head, Thranduil let his hair drape across Bard’s skin, earning himself a soft gasp by way of reward; he drew the tip of his tongue up the centre of Bard’s chest and up the side of his neck, pausing to nip gently at his earlobe, and then laid a trail of kisses along his jawline to his mouth, nudging at Bard’s lips and sliding his tongue against Bard’s when he opened for him, a soft moan escaping them both at the contact. 

Bard wrapped his arms around Thranduil and drew his fingers through his hair, smoothing down his back to his hips and pulling Thranduil down against him, arching up to meet him with another soft moan. “I have needed you so very badly,” he murmured, and Thranduil smiled. 

“And now you have me,” he said, rolling his hips downwards and biting his lip at the sensations that produced. “And I cannot wait any longer. I want you, all of you.” He drew a slightly shuddering breath, to be suddenly so close to all he had wanted, all he had needed, had dreamed of, it was more than a little overwhelming. “I need to feel you, inside me.” His voice was little more than a whisper, taut with desire and all the feelings that had held him at their mercy all winter.

Bard caught his breath, and his eyes widened. “You want me to - _oh_.” He huffed a sheepish, breathless laugh. “I suppose I thought _you_ would…”

Thranduil smiled. “You thought I would have you? There will most certainly be time enough for that later.” He traced a finger down the side of Bard’s face and leaned down for a kiss. “But for now, I think we should begin with something a little easier for you, and I _have_ done this before, though a long time ago. And besides, I _want_ you, almost beyond reason.” He slid his hand between their bodies, wrapped his fingers around Bard’s arousal, stroking gently but firmly, and kissed him hard, swallowing the cry that escaped Bard’s lips at his touch. Reaching out with his other hand he found the cut-glass vial he had placed upon the bedside table earlier, hoping - knowing - he would need it. “You will need to help me,” he murmured, pressing the bottle into Bard’s hand, “and I will help you.”

Bard nodded, still breathless, and looked at the bottle for a moment; uncorking it he poured some of the contents onto his fingers, rubbing his fingertips together slowly, almost wonderingly, to feel the slickness of the oil; Thranduil took his hand and guided him down between his legs, and Bard’s eyes widened again as he realised what Thranduil wanted him to do. Thranduil smiled, utterly charmed, and then hitched in a gasp as Bard tentatively stroked one slick finger over his entrance and then gently, a little hesitantly, began to nudge it inside him.

“Yes,” Thranduil whispered, “like that,” and he pressed a gentle kiss to Bard’s lips, nudging with the tip of his tongue as Bard opened for him again, sighing softly at the sensation of Bard’s finger working carefully inside him. “I will not break,” he murmured, and he cupped the side of Bard’s face in his hand, feeling it warm as Bard blushed. “I only need you to help me to relax, and you may be as firm about it as you like.”

Bard laughed sheepishly again, and after another moment he slipped another finger inside, still careful but a little more confident now, and Thranduil drew in a breath as he settled, _oh_ how he had needed this, and he arched back against Bard’s hand, pushing down on his fingers until they grazed the sensitive spot inside him and he let out a long, low moan. “ _More_ ,“ he gasped, “ _please_ ,” and he arched again, rolling his hips forward for friction and then back again as Bard replaced two fingers with three, he could not withstand much more of this, he needed more, he needed Bard, _properly_ , and drawing in a breath he shifted, sat up astride Bard’s lap and pulled him upright. “I want you to kneel,” he murmured, “and then I will hold you.” 

Bard obediently pulled himself into a kneeling position, although it meant he needed both his hands and Thranduil almost whimpered at the loss of his fingers - but he reached for the bottle of oil and slicked Bard’s arousal with it and then knelt astride his lap and slowly, slowly, lowered himself, taking him in very gradually, sinking down until he was completely filled and a helpless cry of delight escaped him. He shook his hair forward so that it fell around them like a curtain, and cradled Bard’s head in his hands as he leaned down to kiss him, drinking in the look of absolute wonder on Bard’s face as he did so. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he began to move, flexing his thighs as he raised and then lowered himself, bracing himself with his hands on Bard’s shoulders, shuddering as Bard rolled his hips to thrust up into him as he moved, his hands at Thranduil’s hips, thumbs stroking over his hipbones and fingers spread wide across his sides and back.

“You’re so…oh, I haven’t the words,” murmured Bard, and Thranduil smiled and kissed him again. 

“So are you,” he said. “And now - no more words, only this.” And he began to increase his pace, drinking in Bard’s soft moans and cries, echoing them with his own as the pleasure built and built inside him, _oh_ , he had thought about this all winter, and now he found that the reality was so much more than the imaginings which had sustained him during all those long, lonely nights, so much more, and he tipped his head back as it overwhelmed him, letting out a long, delighted cry and tightening hard around Bard’s arousal inside him, pushing him crying out over the edge in his wake.

They clung shivering to each other for a long moment and then slowly, reluctantly they rearranged themselves to lie down again, and Thranduil drew Bard into his arms and held him close and tight, pressing a kiss into his hair. “You will be my undoing,” he murmured, “and I cannot bring myself to care.”

“I think you’re already mine,” said Bard with a breathless laugh. “That was - you were - you _are_ \- oh, I never even dared to imagine it could be like _that_.”

Thranduil smiled. “And now you know,” he said, “and we have plenty of time to make further discoveries.”

“Mmm,” said Bard, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “But perhaps not just now.”

“Not just now,” Thranduil chuckled softly. “For now I would be more than happy just to hold you in my arms and watch you sleep, if sleep is what you want.”

“That sounds…oh, _wonderful_ ,” said Bard around another yawn. “I don’t think I’ve slept soundly since you left Dale, and I am _so_ tired.”

“Then sleep, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, and Bard closed his eyes, a soft smile upon his lips at Thranduil’s words, though to Thranduil’s knowledge he would not have understood their meaning. Thranduil kissed his forehead and drew the covers up around them, and listened as Bard’s breathing slowed and deepened as he fell asleep, his heart filled with such peace and joy as he had not known in centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	27. For As Long As I Have I Am Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil take full advantage of it not quite being time for breakfast yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another rating-earning chapter! :D

Bard awoke slowly, comfortably, and for a moment he was not sure where he was, or even _when_ he was; the where was soon solved, for the velvet hangings on the walls and the almost obscene comfort of the bed reminded him that he was in Thranduil’s bedroom, and the arms around him, the smooth, strong chest that was his pillow, the drift of silver-white hair across his eyes, they told him that he was in the place he had longed to be for months, in his beloved’s arms. He sighed softly and burrowed closer, further into Thranduil’s embrace, pressing a kiss to the skin against his lips. He had no idea what time it was; there were no windows and the soft lamplight was the same as it had been earlier - last night, he assumed, because he felt as refreshed as though he had slept soundly for several hours. 

Last night…a smile spread across his face at the thought of it, first the opportunity at last to tell Thranduil how he felt, then the opportunity to give him the gift he had brought, and then…oh, he had been thinking about it all winter, how good it would be to be with Thranduil again, in private, with nobody to hear them, but he had never dreamed it would be as glorious as it had actually been. He felt as though he could still feel the last echoes of pleasure shivering through his body, and he arched a little in Thranduil’s embrace, tilting his head up to kiss him and realising as he did so that Thranduil was awake, and watching him with a gentle smile on his face.

“Oh,” he said, “good morning. If it is morning.” He smiled, and kissed him. “It’s definitely good, in any case.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil. “And it is not yet time to join your family for breakfast, if that is what you wanted to know.”

Bard grinned. “How long do we have?”

Thranduil glanced at a candle burning on the table beside the bed, and Bard saw that it was marked with the hours; well, he thought, if you live in a house with no windows, you need another way of telling whether it’s day or night. “Three hours, or thereabouts,” he said. 

“Well,” said Bard, “that’s enough time for _something_ , at least,” and he kissed Thranduil hard and slowly, arching against him and letting one hand wander into his hair, finding the tip of his ear, and sending the other skittering down to the small of his back, holding him in place. 

“I think it most certainly is,” said Thranduil, humming softly with pleasure, “and if you want, I can show you how good it can feel to give yourself over to me, as I gave myself to you last night.”

Bard’s eyes widened a little, and he felt a shudder of utter _need_ run through him at Thranduil’s words. “I definitely want,” he said, kissing him again. “So very much.”

“Then it will be my absolute pleasure,” said Thranduil, and he darted his tongue against Bard’s and then nudged Bard to lie back against the pillows and began to lick a long slow trail down his torso, his hair draping across Bard’s skin, his tongue tracing circles around first one nipple and then the other, and following his tongue with his fingers as he made his way further down. Bard hitched in a gasp and tipped his head back, his hands blindly making their way into Thranduil’s hair, although as ever he was careful to avoid the left-hand side of his face. 

Thranduil continued lower, drawing the flat of his tongue across the base of Bard’s stomach and then up his arousal from root to tip, curling it around the head and pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there, and Bard let out a hitching, shuddering moan that tailed off into a gasp of surprised confusion as Thranduil moved lower, nudging him to part his legs and raise his knees. Thranduil settled himself in a crouch between Bard’s thighs, and reached over to the table for the cut-glass bottle of oil, glancing up at Bard from beneath his lashes; the dark, utterly wanton smile on his face made Bard catch his breath. He was no longer nervous about this, only hopelessly, helplessly aroused and _wanting_. 

Bard thought he knew what came next, but then Thranduil lowered his head again and drew his tongue in a slow line down between Bard’s legs, darting across his entrance once, twice, and Bard whimpered in surprise, he had not expected that but it felt so _good_. Thranduil did it again, nudging the very tip of his tongue inside, and Bard whimpered again, trying not to push down but wanting more contact, more touch, just _more_. Thranduil hummed against his skin, shifting a little, and then one slick, slender finger nudged at him, stroking gently and then slipping inside, pushing very slowly into him as Thranduil unfolded himself from between Bard’s legs and leaned up to kiss him.

“Is this all right?” he murmured, and Bard had to catch his breath before he could speak.

“It is…oh, it’s so much more than all right,” he said, his hands going to Thranduil’s shoulders, curling around them, feeling the strength and the power there. “Only… _oh_ …please, _more_ …”

Thranduil smiled against his lips. “Of course, meleth-nín,” he said, and Bard smiled again to hear it; it reminded him that he wanted to ask Thranduil what he had said to him, that last night in Dale, but not now, _oh_ , not now. And then Thranduil slid another finger into him, and Bard forgot about everything except the sensations of Thranduil above him, upon him, inside him…and then Thranduil found something inside him that sent a bolt of sensation like lightning arcing through him, and he arched up and cried out in shocked surprise. 

“There,” whispered Thranduil, “ _that_ is how good it can feel,” and Bard could only whimper in reply. Thranduil smiled and kissed him, and after a moment very carefully, very slowly, replaced two fingers with three, and Bard tensed for a moment and then relaxed, the gentle pressure easing the tension out of his muscles, and he found himself pushing down against Thranduil’s hand, searching for that place inside him again and _oh_ , there it was, there it was…he hitched in a gasping moan and kissed Thranduil clumsily, almost desperately. 

“Please,” he whispered, and arched again, and Thranduil pulled back a little, just enough to be able to look into his eyes.

“You are ready?” he murmured, and Bard nodded. 

“Please,” he repeated. “I _need_ you.”

“And I cannot deny you anything,” whispered Thranduil, and he carefully slid his fingers out and uncorked the bottle again, slicking himself and then positioning himself at Bard’s entrance, rolling his hips slowly, easing into him inch by painstaking inch. 

Instinctively, Bard wrapped his legs around Thranduil’s waist, pulling him further in and gasping for breath, utterly consumed by the sensations from inside and out. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, his fingers curling into Thranduil’s upper back, arching up to meet him and shuddering as Thranduil came to rest completely within him.

Thranduil rested his forehead against Bard’s and breathed deeply, calmly, his hands braced either side of Bard’s head. “Are you all right?” he murmured, and Bard laughed breathlessly. 

“Yes,” he said, “but I will be even better if you will move.”

Thranduil flashed him a dark, amused smile and rolled his hips forward, brushing against that place inside him, and Bard let out a soft cry, _oh_ , followed by another, a little louder, as they established a rhythm between them, Bard arching up and Thranduil thrusting forward, slowly at first but soon enough becoming faster, and then Thranduil shifted to lean on one arm and slid his other hand between them to take Bard in hand, stroking firmly as he nudged against that place inside Bard’s body over and over again until all of a sudden it crept up and took Bard entirely by surprise, making him see stars as he fell shivering and tensing and crying out. He dimly registered Thranduil pushing into him once, twice more and then shuddering to his own completion, a low, moaning cry escaping his lips. 

Bard tilted his head up for a kiss, clumsy and dizzy and shivering with aftershocks as Thranduil shifted within him, and wound his hands into Thranduil’s hair as Thranduil kissed him back, softly, slowly, and oh, this, too, was so much more than even his most fevered imaginings alone in his cold and empty bed in Dale. 

“I love you,” he whispered, when he had more or less got his breath back, “so much. I can’t quite believe I”m finally here at last, with you. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and it’ll all have been a dream and I’ll be back in Dale, or even Lake-town, and none of this will have happened.”

“I promise you, this is real,” said Thranduil a little breathlessly, “and you are really here, and so am I. And we still have plenty of time before breakfast.” He gave Bard a smile at once dark and mischievous. “What would you say if I suggested a bath?”

Bard chuckled a little helplessly. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no. I suppose we probably need one. And I was thinking, earlier, when I was bathing before dinner, how much nicer it would have been if you had been there with me.”

“Then we are decided,” said Thranduil. “In a moment, for I cannot quite leave you, not just yet.”

“Mmm,” said Bard, shifting a little so that he could wrap his legs loosely over Thranduil’s, still keeping him in place. “Not yet.” He stifled a yawn, and then sighed. “I’m not tired. Not really. I slept better than I have in months. Years, even. Possibly ever. I’m just…not getting any younger.” He realised what he had said as soon as he had said it, and cursed himself for it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

Thranduil sighed a little sadly, but he smiled, and brushed a kiss across Bard’s mouth. “It is what it is. And I will take whatever I am given, for as long as it is given to me.”

“Then I will do my absolute level best to keep giving it to you as long as I possibly can,” said Bard fervently. “I mean, I would love you until the end of the world if I could, but we both know I don’t have that sort of time. But for as long as I have, I am yours.”

“And I am yours,” said Thranduil. “And I _can_ love you until the end of the world, and I will.”

“But in the meantime,” murmured Bard, swallowing against the weight in his throat at the thought of Thranduil enduring all the remaining ages of the world alone, pushing that thought firmly aside; he tilted his head to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Thranduil’s neck, “you mentioned something about a bath.”

“So I did,” said Thranduil, laughing a little. “Then we will have to move.”

“Good point,” said Bard. “Well, you’ll have to move first, given that you have me in a rather compromising position.” 

“So I do,” said Thranduil, shifting slightly, which sent a small shiver of pleasure scurrying through Bard, spent as he was. “Although you are really so very delightful, I am reluctant to let you go.”

“It’s up to you, of course,” said Bard. “I’d quite happily keep you here for the rest of the night, but…I am beginning to really rather need to move.” He chuckled sheepishly, and Thranduil grinned. 

“All right,” he said, and eased up very carefully, taking himself from within Bard and shifting to lie on his side, trailing one hand across the width of Bard’s chest. “And you are most delightful from this angle, too. But as you rightly said, I did mention a bath.” He stretched, catlike, and rolled off the bed to his feet, sauntering towards an alcove on the other side of the room; all Bard could do for a moment was to watch him go, drinking in the way he moved, the length of his glorious body when it was not hidden by his admittedly spectacularly flattering clothes, the way his hair fell around him like a cloak… 

Thranduil paused in the doorway and turned just enough to look back at the bed with a dark and very inviting gaze. “Will you join me?” he asked, the tone of his voice promising all manner of delights, and Bard grinned. 

“I am right behind you,” he said, and he rolled to his feet and padded across the room, fully aware that Thranduil was watching him as appreciatively as he had just watched Thranduil. He felt a little self-conscious, but tried to bury it as best he could. And then Thranduil turned and stepped through the doorway, and Bard followed him, already anticipating what might await him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> We are now over 50,000 words, 150 comments, 50 kudos and 1100 hits! This story continues to surprise and delight me at every turn (I was expecting it to be 10k of UST with a very limited reception :D ), and so do you lovely people. Thank you! <333333 *party snacks all round*


	28. Warm Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil take a bath, and Thranduil has to unlearn some old habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another rating-earning chapter. Honestly, it's like buses, you wait ages for one to emerge from all the fluff, and then three come along at once. :D

The bathroom was smaller than the bedroom, more intimate somehow; the walls were simply carven rock, and most of the floor was taken up by a large pool sunken into the stone and filled with gently steaming water. Thranduil half-turned and stretched out a hand to Bard, and Bard took it and let Thranduil lead him across the room, following him as he stepped gracefully into the water and drew Bard to him in a loose embrace. 

The water was warm, and came up to their waists - well, slightly higher on Bard, given that he could only aspire to Thranduil’s height - and Bard sighed softly, oh, that felt wonderful. He trailed one hand across the surface of the water - it was like bathing in the lake, only warmer, and cleaner, and generally nicer, and with distinctly better company than the quick, lonely dips he used to take from the barge in the summer, if he had the time. 

“I might have to stay here for ever, if this is the standard of facilities in the Woodland Realm,” he said with a laugh. “Or at least until I have managed to get Dáin to agree to send us some plumbers and water engineers to sort out the water supply in Dale.”

Thranduil chuckled, leading him over to the side of the pool where there was a broad step submerged in the water; sitting down he drew Bard down to rest between his legs, Bard’s back against his chest. “You would be more than welcome, meleth-nín,” he said, “although I think your people might have something to say about it.”

“I suppose they would,” said Bard, settling back and leaning his head back against Thranduil’s shoulder, watching as the ends of Thranduil’s hair floated in the water around him like some exotic underwater plant. “Sigrid will just have to hurry up and learn how to be Lady of Dale, and then she can look after them and I can run away to the forest with you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the sensations of the warm water, of Thranduil’s strong arms around him, and then opened them again as a thought occurred to him, prompted by Thranduil’s use of that endearment in his own tongue. “I was meaning to ask you,” he said, a little hesitantly, “what it was that you said to me on that last night, in Dale, when I was falling asleep.”

Thranduil let out a soft, surprised sounding little laugh. “I had thought you were already asleep,” he said. 

“I only just caught it,” said Bard. “And I couldn’t remember most of it, but - I might have asked Tauriel what the very last bit meant.”

“And did she tell you?” asked Thranduil, suddenly sounding a very little like he had when Bard had first met him, every inch the King who was weighing up his options and deciding whether or not he was offended. Bard slid one hand down Thranduil’s arm, lacing his fingers between Thranduil’s and tilting his head to look up at him.

“She did. But you mustn’t be angry with her, because it was me who asked. And - and I think she knew about us anyway, and she won’t say a word to anyone. She gave me her word.” He thought he might dare to press a kiss to the corner of Thranduil’s mouth, hoping to defuse the tension that had suddenly appeared there. “And I am glad that she did, for once I knew what it meant, I was reassured, because I knew then that you felt for me as I felt - feel - for you. And I wished I’d told you before you left. I still do.”

“It is none of Tauriel’s business what passes between you and me,” said Thranduil, that old, chilly steel in his voice still, and Bard shifted so that he could turn around and face him, kneeling between his thighs and placing his hands upon Thranduil’s shoulders.

“Perhaps not, but she is a good friend to me now, and if you did not want me to befriend her, then you should not have left her with me and my family,” he said, softly and urgently. “She is my friend and my children love her, and I know that she is more to you than a simple subject. I asked her what it meant, having no idea, and she told me, and in truth I think the telling brought her a little joy, which she sorely needs. So you must not be angry with her, because if the blame lies anywhere it is with me.”

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, clearly thinking, and Bard tried not to hold his breath, suddenly feeling very tense, very afraid. 

“You are right,” murmured Thranduil at last, opening his eyes again and giving Bard a contrite look. “I am sorry. Old habits die very hard, when one is as old and as set in one’s ways as I am, and that is something I should already have learned.”

Bard let out the breath he had absolutely not been holding, a smile coming to his face as he leaned forward to kiss Thranduil’s forehead. “I know,” he said, “and I think it will take you time to unlearn those habits. But if you can, I think it would be good for both of you if you could learn to trust Tauriel. She loves you, you know, and she is glad that you are happy again at last.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Thranduil, his voice softening again. “It is - harder to trust those I have known, who have known me when I was bereaved, and before. Those to whom I am their King, rather than simply - me.”

“That makes sense,” said Bard. “But, will you try? For her, and if that’s not enough, perhaps for me?”

“I will try,” said Thranduil after a moment. “And as for what I said to you when I thought you were asleep, for I was not brave enough to tell you while you were awake, or in words you would understand - it was _i rhîw natha and im chín, meleth-nín_.” He paused for a kiss, and then continued. “Which means, in your tongue, _the winter will be long without you, my love_. And it was.”

Bard found that he had to swallow against the sudden weight in his throat. “It was,” he whispered. “But I’m here now.”

“You are,” said Thranduil, “and there are no words in my tongue or in yours sufficient to describe how thankful I am for it.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Bard, resting his forehead against Thranduil’s for a moment. “But maybe I can show you, if you think we still have time before breakfast.” And he sent one hand stealing down Thranduil’s chest under the water, his fingers drawing patterns across the smooth, soft skin. 

“I am sure we do,” said Thranduil, tracing one finger down Bard’s spine, and Bard smiled. 

“Good,” he murmured, “because I have a powerful need to show you, and keep showing you, as long as I am here.” He pressed a kiss to the juncture of Thranduil’s neck and shoulder, and began to work his way up as Thranduil tilted his head back, his hair floating around them, soft kisses and darts of his tongue, all the way up his neck until he reached Thranduil’s ear; he drew the earlobe into his mouth and grazed it gently with his teeth and then worked his way up to the tip, lips and tongue tracing its outline. Encouraged by the soft sounds this elicited, he kept doing it, trailing his other hand up the other side of Thranduil’s neck, carefully avoiding his face but smoothing his hair back behind his ear and running his finger up it, catching the tip between his fingers and rubbing very gently.

“Do you have - ah! - any idea what that does to me?” murmured Thranduil somewhat breathlessly, and Bard caught the tip of his right ear between his teeth and tugged it very very gently, letting his teeth graze it as he let it go and grinning at the noise Thranduil made at that.

“I think I’m beginning to get the picture, yes,” he said, darting his tongue out to lick where he had just bitten, and Thranduil growled softly. 

“Keep doing that and I will not be responsible for my actions,” he said, and Bard laughed. 

“But I’d warrant I’ll enjoy them,” he said, darting his tongue out again, “so I might just have to keep doing it.”

Thranduil growled again, and grasped Bard by the hips, raising up and flipping him over with a great splash and a yelp of surprise from Bard, so that all of a sudden Bard was the one sitting on the step and Thranduil was kneeling astride him and pinning him in place, his hands curling over Bard’s shoulders and his mouth crushed to Bard’s in a kiss that left Bard in no doubt of his intentions, his hips arching forwards only confirming them. 

“Do not push me,” said Thranduil, pulling away only enough to speak, a dark laugh in his voice, “or I will have to take you back to my bed and have my way with you until you cannot move, and then we will be very late indeed for breakfast.”

“Don’t tempt me,” gasped Bard, arching up helplessly. “If it was up to me I’d never want to get out of your bed.” He let his head fall back as Thranduil pounced upon the base of his neck, biting and sucking at the skin, and wound his hands into Thranduil’s wet hair, smoothing his fingers through it as it clung to his skin and trying - and mostly failing - to hang onto coherent thought. 

“Were it up to me, you certainly would never leave my bed,” said Thranduil against his skin, arching forward again, and Bard let out a helpless little cry, bucking upwards against him, suddenly desperate for contact, for friction, and hungry for the sensation of Thranduil’s skin sliding against his under the water. After a moment, Thranduil slipped one hand between them and wrapped his fingers around both of them, taking them firmly in hand and stroking hard and fast, the water easing his way, and Bard hitched in a gasp that turned to a moan on the outward breath, and then another, his fingers scrabbling at Thranduil’s back, almost sobbing as he came undone and felt the tension shuddering out of Thranduil’s body as he found his own release.

“Or your bath,” said Bard shakily, after a long moment spent attempting to get his breath back. “Actually I really don’t think I could move just now.”

“Then don’t,” murmured Thranduil, a little breathlessly. “We still have time.” He shifted so that he was sitting beside Bard on the step again and then drew him back against his chest, tucking his arms and legs around him and holding him close, stroking one hand through his hair. 

“You are so…” Bard murmured, looking for the right word. “I don’t know. I feel as though I could never possibly have enough of you.” He huffed out a soft laugh. “Sigrid and Tilda both think you’ve enchanted me. Or at least, Sigrid was worried that you had, and I think I reassured her that you hadn’t, and I am fairly sure Tilda thinks that enchanting humans is just one of the things your people do. I’m beginning to wonder if she’s right.” He turned to lean up for a kiss, smiling to show Thranduil that he was joking - mostly. “Although I can definitely assure you that I am here entirely and completely of my own free will.”

Thranduil chuckled. “You may reassure your daughters that the only magic I am truly capable of is the glamour that hides my true face and dulls its pain. There are other enchantments about my home, but they are not entirely of my making, and all I do is maintain them against the forces of evil. But I promise you I have not enchanted you, or them.”

“Not intentionally, anyway,” said Bard, still smiling. “Although I think Tilda might be a little bit disappointed. She’s just at the age where all that sort of thing is endlessly fascinating. She loved the stories in the book you sent.”

“I am glad,” said Thranduil softly. “It is a very long time since I have had anything to do with children, and although I knew that Sigrid has an interest in politics and Bain in the art of combat, I was not quite sure what Tilda might like.”

“You got it exactly right,” said Bard. “And I can’t thank you enough for thinking of them. Although you might need to brace yourself, because I think they’ve decided to adopt you as they’ve adopted Tauriel, and once you’re theirs, they’ll never let you go.”

“Is that so?” said Thranduil, the barest hint of a laugh in his voice. “Should I be worried?”

“Possibly,” said Bard. “But if they’re too much, just say, either to me or to them. They’ll understand, as long as you put it gently and don’t use your King voice.”

Thranduil really did laugh, then. “I see. Well, you will all have to be patient with me, for I think this will take a little getting used to. But I will try.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Bard, pulling him down gently for another kiss. “And for now, maybe just to sit here for a little while longer with you, before you have to brace yourself for my little ones.”

“Now that is a request I can certainly grant you,” said Thranduil with a smile, and he pillowed Bard’s head carefully against his shoulder, smoothing his hand over Bard’s hair and twining strands of it around his fingers. Bard sighed happily and closed his eyes, just for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the water and the security of Thranduil’s embrace and his gentle touches. This was worth all of the winter’s misery, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindarin taken from ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008. This was my first try at translating a whole sentence, and I am not sure I have the word order right. If anyone knows for certain and can let me know/correct it, I would be hugely grateful!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	29. A Liberty Or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil get ready for breakfast; they are almost certainly going to be late.

“It is probably time for breakfast,” said Thranduil softly, and Bard started awake. 

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked groggily, blinking and raising a hand to rub his eyes. 

“You did,” said Thranduil, “but do not worry about it. If you have spent the winter sleeping as badly and working as hard as I think you have, you have earned it.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard around a yawn. “And I don’t much want to move now, but if it’s breakfast time I suppose we must.”

“Needs must indeed,” said Thranduil, moving forward and lifting Bard to his feet as he stood up himself; Bard turned in his embrace to hold him close for a moment, and then made himself pull away again. 

“Come on, then,” he said, and made for the side of the pool, climbing up the steps they had descended to enter the water. Thranduil followed close behind him and reached out an arm for a pair of towels hanging on a rail nearby, passing one to Bard and wrapping himself in the other. Bard slung the towel around himself, realising that it was even softer and thicker than the one in the bathroom that he had been given, and he sighed quietly, happily. He was not sure what he had done to deserve all of this, but he absolutely was not going to question it.

Bard concentrated on drying himself off and scrubbing the towel over his hair, hoping to get the worst of the wet out of it, and then followed Thranduil back into the bedroom, making for the trail of discarded clothes on the floor. 

“Leave them,” said Thranduil. “If you look upon the chair in the corner, you will find another set.”

Bard did as he was told, finding that there was indeed another pile of neatly-folded clothes there, similar to those he had worn last night but these in shades of dark red and gold. “You really have thought of everything, haven’t you?” he murmured, and Thranduil chuckled. 

“Well, I was relatively confident that you would end up in my bed last night,” he said, “so it was only logical that you would need another set of clothes. There are more in the cupboard in your room, but these, I thought, would be better here, where they are ready to hand now that you need them.”

Bard had to laugh; it had indeed been somewhat inevitable that he had ended up here, and he had no wish to have spent the night anywhere else. He dressed carefully, handling the clothing almost reverently, for it was so much finer than anything else he had ever had the opportunity to wear, and when he was done he smoothed his hand over his hair, hoping it wasn’t too messy.

Glancing at Thranduil he saw that he was still naked, except for the towel around his waist, and was sitting at a table with a looking-glass rather like the one in Bard’s room, slowly pulling a comb through his hair. There was a tall glass bottle next to the looking-glass, again like the one in Bard’s room, and every now and then Thranduil poured a little of the contents onto his fingers and then smoothed it through the length of his hair. Fascinated, Bard went to him, and covered Thranduil’s hand with his own.

“May I?” he asked, and he saw Thranduil smile in the mirror. 

“Of course,” he said, and handed the comb to Bard. “The oil helps keep it smooth, if used sparingly.”

“I see,” said Bard with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t sure what it was for so I didn’t try it last night.”

“Well, now you know,” said Thranduil, “and when you have finished with my hair, I will return you the favour, if you like.”

“I would love that,” said Bard, already thinking about how wonderful it would feel to have Thranduil’s hands in his hair; but first, how glorious an opportunity this was, to be allowed to comb Thranduil’s splendid hair, and he began very carefully drawing the comb through it, easing the knots out and every now and then applying a little of the scented oil. It did indeed help the comb smooth its way, and Bard thought that he could do with something similar for the girls and for Bain. 

Thranduil’s hair was heavy and soft, even when still slightly damp, and it almost felt as though it had a will of its own; Bard thought he had never seen him with even a single strand out of place. It seemed to settle where it wanted to go with very little encouragement from him, and he concentrated on the sensation of it sifting through his hands, sliding between the teeth of the comb. Eventually it was done, or as done as he could make it, and he handed the comb back to Thranduil so that he could settle it as he wished. 

But Thranduil only turned and smiled up at him. “Thank you,” he said warmly, and then, after a moment, “nobody has done that for me in longer than I can remember.”

“Then I’m honoured,” said Bard softly, and he dropped a kiss onto the crown of Thranduil’s head and watched him smile in the mirror.

“And now, if you would allow me the same honour?” Thranduil got to his feet and ushered Bard into the chair, and Bard sat obediently, thinking that he couldn’t remember the last time someone had done this for him, either. Probably Maudie, but perhaps his mother, when he was a lad. 

Thranduil untied the strip of leather holding the top of Bard’s hair in place and then ran his fingers slowly through the length of it, teasing the tangles out and rubbing some of the oil into the ends, and then drawing the comb gently from roots to tips, over and over, until Bard was feeling delightfully, drowsily shivery, the sensations fizzing from his scalp all the way through him. He dimly registered Thranduil reaching into a box that sat on the table next to the looking-glass, but did not see what he brought out of it. Thranduil brought the top of his hair back as he was accustomed to wearing it, but he did not tie the thong back into it; instead, Bard heard a soft click, and then felt Thranduil doing something that felt like plaiting, although even with the help of the mirror he couldn’t see exactly what it was he was doing.

Eventually there was another soft click, and Thranduil set the comb down upon the table and rested his hands on Bard’s shoulders. “There,” he said. “I have taken a liberty or two, but I hope you will not mind.”

Bard looked at himself properly in the mirror, and thought he looked smarter and more presentable than he ever had before. He wasn’t sure what Thranduil had done, but when he raised one hand to feel the back of his head, he realised that instead of the strip of leather there was a metal clasp holding his hair back, and then part of it seemed to be braided and held at the ends with another, smaller clasp; he wasn’t sure, but they felt as though they might be patterned with leaves. 

“It has been a very long time since I have worn any adornment in my hair,” said Thranduil softly, “but when I did, those were the clasps I liked the best.”

“Oh,” said Bard, deeply touched and somewhat thrilled. “Thank you. I’m honoured again.”

“It is a fitting gesture, I think,” said Thranduil, “as is the braid, which is symbolic among my people. We only allow those closest to us to touch our hair, let alone braid it, and a braid such as this signifies intimacy and love.”

“Oh,” said Bard again, rendered temporarily speechless. “Your people will know, then, about us?”

Thranduil shrugged. “I care not. It is none of their business and their opinions are their own, and do not matter. They will have to accustom themselves to your presence, in any case.”

“Well, then,” said Bard, standing and turning so that he could take Thranduil into his arms and kiss him, “everyone here is going to have to get used to me, and everyone in Dale is going to have to get used to you, if that’s what you want.” He smiled broadly, suddenly feeling as though a weight he did not know he had been carrying had been lifted from his shoulders. “I couldn’t be happier.”

“Then I am glad,” said Thranduil, kissing him back and then stepping out of his embrace. “But for now I must dress, and we must go to breakfast. I fear that we are going to be more than a little late.”

Bard groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of this from Sigrid,” he said, and Thranduil laughed as he pulled on a fresh pair of leggings and an undershirt, both in a pale blue, a tunic in dove grey and then a robe of silver and black with a lining of midnight blue, and a pair of tall black boots. Opening a case from a drawer in the looking-glass table, he selected a simple, delicate silver diadem and set it upon his head, adjusted his hair very slightly, and then offered Bard his arm. 

“Come now,” he said. “Let us go and face the horde.” His eyes were dancing with amusement, and Bard could not help a grin.

“Brace yourself,” he said, “because they’re going to be a lot less restrained this morning than they were last night, I think.”

“They will not be the first awkward audience I have ever dealt with,” Thranduil reminded him and Bard chuckled.

“That’s a very good thing,” he said. “Don’t let them overwhelm you.”

“I shall do my best,” said Thranduil, and he led them from the room with as much dignity as if they were going to face a delegation from Erebor or Gondor or Lothlórien.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	30. More Than I Could Have Thought To Ask For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil are indeed late for breakfast, and the children let them know about it.

Thranduil led Bard along the corridor and round a corner, coming to an open door that led onto a wide balcony looking over the forest. A table was set for breakfast and all three children were already seated and eating; their heads turned as Bard and Thranduil came through the door, and Bard chuckled under his breath.

“Brace yourself,” he said softly, and glanced at Thranduil to see that he was smiling. 

“There you are,” said Sigrid as they approached the table. “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.” She gave them one of her significant looks, and to Bard’s horror he felt heat rising up his face; another glance at Thranduil told him that he was in a similar situation, just the faintest hint of pink smudging along his cheekbones, and if Bard hadn’t been so embarrassed he would have been stunned. He had not thought that blushing was something that Thranduil even knew how to do.

“I ask your forgiveness,” said Thranduil. “We must have lost track of the time.”

“I’ll say,” said Sigrid around a giggle, and Bard raised his eyebrows at her.

“Give over, sweetheart,” he said firmly, and Sigrid grinned at the pair of them and then relented.

“Sorry,” she said. “But the looks on your faces.”

“I think you look very nice,” said Tilda, not understanding, and Bard smiled at her as he took his seat, grateful for the distraction. 

“Thank you, kitten,” he said. “Did you sleep all right?”

“All the way till morning,” said Tilda brightly. “Then we woke up and got dressed, and Mister Galion came to get us and brought us in here, and we waited for you for a bit and then we started to eat because you weren’t here yet.”

“You may call him simply Galion,” said Thranduil gently, smiling indulgently at Tilda from his seat next to Bard - the children had clearly engineered it again so that they would sit next to each other, and Bard couldn’t help smiling. “We do not use titles in such a way among our people.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”

“And you were not, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “Only a very few of us have titles in that way, like Lord Elrond of Rivendell, or Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien.”

“Or you,” said Sigrid mildly, and Thranduil let out a surprised little laugh.

“Or me, I suppose,” he said. “But you do not have to use it. I would much rather you just use my name.”

Tilda’s eyes were wide. “But how do you say it? It’s _different_.”

“Tauriel has been teaching us a little of your language,” Sigrid explained, “but the sounds are very different to what we are used to so we aren’t doing very well so far.”

This led to Thranduil teaching the children how to pronounce his name properly, and then demonstrating the correct pronunciation of some of the words and phrases Tauriel had been teaching them, and complimenting them upon their attempts; apparently their own accents, remnants of the old accent of the Men of Dale, lent themselves to the pronunciation of Elvish. Meanwhile, Bard sat back and enjoyed his breakfast, and watched his lover and his children begin to get to know each other a little more. He thought it would do them all good to become closer; Thranduil had not truly had a family to care for him in a long time, given the distantness of the relationship between him and his son, and the children had surely missed having another adult in their lives. 

“Your hair looks nice, Da,” said Bain after a while, and Bard could not help the smile that crossed his face at that. 

“Thank you,” he said, “although Thranduil should take all of the credit for it.” He tried his best to approximate the pronunciation Thranduil had been demonstrating, and was rewarded with a warm smile.

“I like the plait,” said Tilda, “and the silver bits. It suits you, Da.”

“My people set a great deal of value and meaning in our hair,” said Thranduil. “The way that we wear it can tell others certain things about us. For example, perhaps you noticed that my son wears small braids at the sides of his head?”

The children all nodded, and Thranduil smiled. 

“Those mean that he is an accomplished warrior. The style of the braid he wears at the back of his head has a similar meaning.”

Tilda’s eyes were round with awe and Bain looked as though he was contemplating growing his hair long enough that he would be able to earn a warrior’s braid himself when he was more accomplished, but it was Sigrid who asked the significant question. 

“So what does the braid in Da’s hair mean?” Her voice was mild and innocent, but Bard shot her a look anyway and saw that her eyes were dancing with mischief. Well, he supposed that they all knew, to a certain extent, what he and Thranduil had become to each other. 

Thranduil, to his credit, met her gaze calmly and levelly, a small smile upon his lips that said he knew exactly what she was doing. “It means that I am very fond of your father, and that I hope that this state of affairs will continue for a very long time,” he said. “The silver clasps he wears used to belong to me, when I wore such things, and now they belong to him.”

Bard blinked, having assumed that he was only borrowing the hair clasps, but his attention was distracted by Tilda, who was beaming at Thranduil.

“Does this mean you are going to be married?” she asked, and Thranduil looked at her in shock, his uncanny self-possession suddenly rather shaken. Bard glanced at him and then slid his hand onto Thranduil’s thigh under the table, stepping into the fray.

“We haven’t talked about that yet, kitten,” he said calmly, although he himself was more than a little discomfited by Tilda’s innocent question. 

“Oh,” said Tilda, a little disappointed, but then an idea struck her and she brightened up again. “Thranduil, will you put a braid in my hair too?”

Bard sent Thranduil a sympathetic look, and murmured, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” just loud enough for Thranduil to hear but not the children, but Thranduil only smiled. 

“Of course I will, pen-neth. Turn around so that I may reach your hair properly.” 

Tilda obediently shuffled round in her chair and Thranduil took her hair out of the single plait that Sigrid had presumably done for her when they had woken. He combed his fingers through it carefully, and then braided back first one side and then the other, a little similar to Legolas’ warrior braids but wider, and then plaited the two into one at the back, fastening it with the ribbon Sigrid had used earlier. 

When he was done, Tilda raised a hand to touch the braids, her eyes going wide again as she felt how beautifully they were done. “Thank you!” she said, wriggling round in her chair again and then surprising all present by reaching up to wrap her arms around Thranduil’s neck. He was so much taller than her that this necessitated her more or less climbing into his lap, and after a moment’s shocked stillness, he caught her around the waist and steadied her, settling her properly on his lap. 

“You are most welcome, pen-neth,” he said, and Bard thought he was probably the only one to hear the bewilderment in Thranduil’s voice. 

“What does it mean?” asked Tilda, and Thranduil smiled. 

“This one means that you are a young lady for whom I have a great regard, and of whom I am coming to be very fond,” he said. 

“Oh,” said Tilda. “Well, I think I am going to be very fond of you, too.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil, and the two of them settled down to finish their breakfast, Tilda happily enthroned upon Thranduil’s lap. 

“Why don’t you have any braids in your hair?” asked Tilda after a few moments, and Thranduil paused to consider her question seriously. 

“It has been a very long time since I have worn anything in my hair or upon my head except my crown, or this,” he said, touching one finger to the diadem at his hairline. “I think that once I became King, I wanted to set myself apart from my people. I had not expected to be King, you see, but my father died and I had to take his place upon the throne. So all of a sudden I had to become someone different to who I had been until that moment. I had to put away everything that had marked me out as the prince, and become the King instead.” He paused. “Does that make sense to you, pen-neth?”

Tilda nodded slowly. “I think so. Your hair is so pretty it doesn’t need anything else, anyway.” She took the end of a lock of Thranduil’s hair in between her fingers, evidently feeling its weight and softness, as Bard held his breath - was this a liberty too far?

But Thranduil only smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I am most honoured.”

Bard let out the breath he had been holding in a soft sigh. This was so much more than he had expected, much more than he could ever have thought to ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am ridiculously full of squee that the filmmakers allowed Luke Evans to use his own Welsh accent for Bard, and had the children use Welsh accents (and the Welsh 'Da' - which is why the children in this 'verse refer to their mother as 'Mam', the Welsh version of 'mum/mom') as well - with the idea that they sound different to the people of Laketown because they are descended from the Lords of Dale, who also spoke that way. Because Sindarin was heavily influenced by Welsh, it makes sense to me that in-universe, the family's accents would lend themselves to learning to pronounce Elvish words fairly accurately. (don't mind me, I'm just an enormous language nerd...)


	31. Diplomacy At The Breakfast Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and the children tell Thranduil how they persuaded Dáin to hand over the gems, and Tilda asks a somewhat impertinent question - and gets a very bewildering answer.

Bard glanced around the breakfast table at Bain, then Sigrid, and then Tilda in Thranduil’s lap; a smile crept across his face, and he sighed happily. 

“This is nice, Da,” said Sigrid quietly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry I was cheeky. Although you were both very funny.”

“Less of that,” said Bard, although he was smiling. “I’m still your Da, and Thranduil is still a King, so try and be a little bit respectful at least sometimes, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“I will. Sorry, Da. It’s just - it’s just nice to see you so happy, and I can’t help teasing you about it a little.”

“All right,” said Bard, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “We really are never going to get any peace again, are we?”

“Probably not,” said Sigrid with an unrepentant grin. “Oh, I meant to ask you, did you get the chance to hand over what you brought from Erebor?”

“I did,” said Bard, just as Thranduil turned to bestow a smile on the pair of them.

“He did,” said Thranduil, “and I hear you and Tauriel had a certain amount to do with the getting of it.”

Sigrid giggled. “We might have helped, but it was Da’s idea, and he was the one who kept at it until King Dáin agreed.”

“How did you manage it?” asked Thranduil. “As Dwarves go, Dáin is one of the more stubborn, and they are _all_ stubborn to the point of insanity.”

“Well,” said Sigrid, “when we started the negotiations about Dale, Da said what you’d said about needing to band together if Sauron truly has returned. Balin backed him up, too. Dáin just sort of sniffed and said he’d be buggered if he was going to band together with a bunch of nancy pointy-ears - you didn’t hear that, Tilda, and I’m sorry, Thranduil, he was really very rude about you.”

Tilda giggled, and Thranduil rolled his eyes and inclined his head. “I am aware of the King under the Mountain’s…colourful turn of phrase where I am concerned. I could say a few things about him, but as I am polite and there are children present, I will not.”

Sigrid snorted with laughter, and Bain snickered. “That was about it for that session, but the next time Da brought it up again,” said Sigrid. “That time, Dáin asked him why he was so keen to cosy up to the inconstant woodland sprites, and quite honestly Da was marvellous, he didn’t even bat an eyelid, just said that it made a great amount of strategic sense given the number of Orcs that had turned up for the battle. And Balin backed him up again. He’s sensible about things, even if the rest of them aren’t.”

“The third time,” put in Bard, “Dáin seemed to be slightly more inclined to listen. He still wasn’t happy about it, but I think Balin had been bending his ear in the meantime. So he agreed that perhaps making an alliance between Dale, Erebor and the Woodland Realm might be a good idea, strategically speaking.”

“Although he did say that it didn’t mean he was going to be shacking up with any limp-wristed forest-dwelling fairies,” said Sigrid, “and this time it was Tauriel who was marvellous. She jumped up and drew her sword and held it to his face, quick as a flash, and ever so calmly she told him that he shouldn’t underestimate the strength of Elven wrists.”

“After that, all weapons were banned at the negotiating table,” chuckled Bard, “but I think Dáin got the point. He started warming up to Tauriel after that; I think he respected her once she’d stood up to him.”

“Definitely,” said Sigrid. “And that day we managed to persuade him to let Bofur bring some engineers and builders to Dale, so I think we must all have impressed him, even if only a little bit.”

“I know he was impressed with you, sweetheart,” said Bard. “You explained so well what you thought needed doing, and you didn’t let any of them talk down to you.”

“Well, Bofur had told me a lot of things and the rest was common sense,” demurred Sigrid, “but I think Dáin might have taken a liking to me.”

“I think he has,” said Bard. “Which helped the next time, when I suggested that perhaps to cement the alliance between Erebor and the Woodland Realm, the Dwarves might like to hand over the gems for which you paid the agreed price all those years ago.”

“And what did he say?” inquired Thranduil, one eyebrow raised. 

“I can only tell you if you cover Tilda’s ears,” said Bard, and Thranduil did so with a soft chuckle, though Tilda pouted in disappointment. When the little girl’s ears were safely covered, Bard drew in a breath. “He said that if I thought he was handing those gems over to the perfidious pointy-eared pretty princeling, I could bugger right back off to the lake and then I could keep buggering off until I got to the Woodland Realm and then…well, I’ll stop there, given the company, but he continued in that vein for a little while. He did manage to cast aspersions on you, me, and what he perceived our alliance to be, let’s just put it that way.”

Sigrid was chortling hysterically behind the hand she had clapped to her mouth, and Bain was snickering, wide-eyed at the amount of profanity he was apparently considered old enough to hear. Thranduil let out a bark of laughter, and Bard was relieved that he did not appear to be offended.

“He does not seem to have a great many insults for me, does he?” said Thranduil after a moment, uncovering Tilda’s ears. “Except one or two about my appearance, and the rest is simply where I live, and an inaccuracy about my rank.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said Bard. “Anyway, the next time I tried again, and this time Tauriel pointed out what a show of faith it would be, and that it would certainly seal the alliance. He blustered, but he wasn’t quite as rude to her as he was to me.”

“He called her ‘lassie’, which I think means he likes her,” said Sigrid. “He calls me that too. And Tilda, when we all went for a visit to see the caves. He was quite the kindly old uncle with her, and with Bain.” 

“He called me ‘laddie’,” said Bain. “I think he likes children.”

Thranduil chuckled. “Have you three found his weakness, then?”

“I think they have,” said Bard. “He was distinctly less hostile once he’d got to know these three a little better. Anyway, it took a few more sessions, but eventually we managed to get him to agree, between us. Although I think if the alliance should ever fail, his rage will be a sight to behold.”

“I would not dream of breaking such an alliance,” said Thranduil, amusement plain to hear in his voice, although then he sobered. “Dáin is wiser than Thrór and certainly wiser than Thorin, and I would hope, considerably saner. Which in turn, I hope, will make him a better ally. And that he has sent me my gems, which he knew I wanted more than anything - that is indeed a show of faith. He could have kept them to hold over me. But you persuaded him otherwise.” Thranduil smiled warmly at Sigrid and Bard. “I will write to Dáin to thank him, but my true thanks lie with you, and with Tauriel.”

Sigrid reached across the table with the hand that was not still holding Bard’s, and covered Thranduil’s hand with it. “We knew how much they meant to you,” she said softly, “and why. So I’m glad we were able to get them back for you.”

“I am ever in your debt,” said Thranduil. 

Bard shook his head. “No you’re not. We didn’t do this for you with any expectation of reward. We did it because we knew it would make you happy.”

“Exactly,” said Sigrid. “We’re not trying to get anything out of you. Besides, you’ve already given us so much. I’d guess you did that because you wanted to, and we did this because we wanted to.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows, but he smiled. “You have guessed correctly. And now I see how you charmed Dáin into acquiescing to your request. You will make a most capable Lady of Dale when the time comes.”

Sigrid blushed, and opened her mouth to demur again, but Bard stepped in. “You will, sweetheart. You’re already better at all the diplomacy stuff than I am. You just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll stand down in your favour, or we’ll have an election and you can stand instead of me.”

“Elections are good,” nodded Sigrid. “I mean no disrespect, Thranduil, but I think there are some things to be said for letting a people choose its leader, especially a people as new as ours.”

“I take no offence at all,” said Thranduil. “I quite agree with you. The people chose your father to lead them from the lakeside to their new home, after all. It is only fair that once you are established, they should have the opportunity to choose who they would like to lead them onwards.”

“If you could have stopped being King, would you have done?” Bain wanted to know, and Thranduil paused to consider the question just as he had considered Tilda’s query about his hair.

“I do not know,” he said eventually. “My people have known only a King, first my father and then me, which does not sound so very much to you, but between us our reigns have covered thousands of years. I could have stepped down in favour of my son, but I do not think he would have thanked me for it. And in the time after I lost my wife, I think it was easier for me to retreat behind my walls because I was the King, and if I wanted to be alone, I would be left alone. If I had been just an ordinary person, I would not have been able to do that. Perhaps it would have been better for me in the long run, but there is no use wondering about it now.”

Tilda was frowning. “Walls?” she asked. “Did you hide in your rooms?”

Thranduil laughed softly. “As it happens, I did, for a long time, pen-neth. But what I meant was that I built walls of ice around my heart so that nobody could come close to me and hurt me the way losing my wife hurt me. I kept them for a very long time, until the battle last autumn, when several things happened that brought them down.”

“And now you’re letting people close to you again,” Tilda said, “like Da, and us. That’s good. We’ll help you not need your walls again.”

“Thank you, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, and Tilda beamed up at him. 

“Tauriel calls me that too. I like it. She says it means ‘little one’ and I am very little compared to you. But I’m going to grow up tall like Bain and Sigrid and Da.”

Thranduil laughed again. “It does indeed mean ‘little one’, but also in the sense that you are very young. You are growing up, in your terms, but to me you have lived less time than the blink of an eye.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, her eyes wide in wonder. “How old _are_ you?”

“I am not entirely sure,” said Thranduil with a smile. “I have rather lost count, and the way that the Ages of Middle-Earth have been counted make it a little complicated, but I believe I am around six and a half thousand years old.”

Tilda blinked, her mouth falling open as she tried to comprehend the enormity of the number, and Thranduil smiled again. “Do not think of it, pen-neth. It is a very large number, and really it does not mean anything except that I have lived a very long time and seen a great many things.”

Tilda nodded, evidently thinking very hard, and after a moment she said, “But if you don’t know how old you are, does that mean you don’t know when your birthday is? I’d be very sad if I didn’t have a birthday.”

“We do not think of things in quite the same way as you do,” said Thranduil, “so no, I do not mark my birthday. I would be very happy to mark yours, though, and those of your brother and sister.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “Well then, you can share mine. It’s a week before Midsummer.”

“I would like that,” said Thranduil, and Tilda beamed up at him again. Bard felt his heart constrict a little within his chest at the sight of them; he had not expected his children to take to Thranduil quite as well as they had, and he certainly had not expected Tilda to make friends with him so swiftly and completely. But then, he had not expected to fall so completely in love with the Elvenking within a couple of days of meeting him, so perhaps all of the unexpected things that had come after that had simply been following in their allotted places. In any case, he did not feel at all inclined to complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	32. A Particular Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil gives Bard and the children a tour of his home, and the throne room takes everyone's breath away; yet again, Tilda is the one who asks the questions everyone wants to know the answers to.

When they had all finished eating, Thranduil looked round at everyone with a smile.

“Now,” he said, “I thought I would show you a little of my halls, and then perhaps Bain, you might like to see my Woodland Guard going about their training, and Sigrid, I think you might enjoy my library. And Tilda, perhaps you would like to go with Tauriel to explore the woods a little?”

Bain looked excited at the thought of watching the Guard training, and Tilda clapped her hands in joy. “Oh, yes please! Tauriel has told me so much about the forest, but I’ve only really seen the bit we rode through yesterday. I want to go and meet the trees!”

Bard stifled a chuckle; he thought perhaps Tilda might have taken Tauriel a little too literally, but he wasn’t going to tell her so. 

Sigrid’s eyes lit up at Thranduil’s mention of his library; Bard was fairly certain she had been hoping for an invitation to peruse it ever since it became clear that they would be visiting the Woodland Realm. 

“Don’t get lost in the library, Sigrid,” he said, amusement colouring his voice. “We’ll need you back at some point to help me run Dale.”

“Come and get me when it’s time to leave,” she laughed. “But really, Da, I’ve still got so much to learn if we’re going to run Dale properly, and where else am I going to learn it? There’s no library in Dale, and I don’t think there’s much of one in Erebor either.”

Thranduil snorted, but did not elaborate, and Sigrid rolled her eyes.

“I only mean that they haven’t had chance to build one up yet,” she said. “All right, I don’t think King Dáin is the bookish type, but I think Balin is, or he would be if he had any books to hand.”

“Perhaps the creation of libraries should be your first task when you return home,” said Thranduil. “I regret I do not have very many books in languages other than my own, or I would send you back with the beginnings of one for Dale, at least.”

“I was thinking, actually, if you don’t mind,” said Sigrid, “if I can make a little more progress in my studies of your language, I might be able to make translations of some of your books, so that people in Dale could read them. If you don’t mind.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Thranduil. “And you may ask any of my people for help - Tauriel, of course, or Feren, my lieutenant, who is an avid reader, although his Westron is not fluent.”

“Thank you,” said Sigrid. “Perhaps I can help Feren with his Westron, if he doesn’t mind helping me with my Sindarin.”

“That sounds like a most worthy exchange,” said Thranduil. “I will ask him to attend you in the library.”

Sigrid thanked him enthusiastically, and Bard smiled to see her so engaged. Who could have predicted even six months ago that his oldest girl would have taken to politics and to learning as she had? She had always been hungry for knowledge, but now it was almost like a fire that lit her from within, consuming her with the desire to know more and more. 

Thranduil rose gracefully from the table, setting Tilda carefully upon the floor, and everyone else scrambled to their feet more or less smartly. Tilda grabbed Thranduil’s hand, which made Bard stifle a chuckle again; his lover had no idea what he was getting himself into. But Thranduil merely smiled serenely down at the little girl and conducted her from the room as grandly as if she had been Lady Galadriel herself. Bard, Sigrid and Bain exchanged an amused look and followed along behind, as Thranduil led them all down the corridor. 

They made their way through chamber after chamber, each more grand than the rest, rooms for meetings and rooms for audiences, until they reached a vast open space, higher than houses and broader than half of Lake-town, Bard thought, distractedly. Walkways and paths arched through it, arches and steps and stairs, crossing over streams and waterfalls, and all leading up to a magnificent throne set high above the rest. Bard felt his jaw drop and resolutely winched it back into place, although when he glanced at his children he saw that they were all gaping in absolute, tongue-tied wonder.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Tilda was the first to recover enough to speak. “Is that where you sit?” she asked, looking up (and up, and up) at Thranduil with eyes like saucers. “It’s so high!”

Thranduil laughed, a genuinely amused rumble from deep in his chest. “Yes, it is, pen-neth. When I want to be especially intimidating, or make a particular impression on someone.”

Tilda’s mouth was a perfect little O of wonder as she took in the approach to the throne, the wide, flat place for people to stand and then the steps up to the throne itself, which allowed no-one to come close to the King.

“I should think they all have a crick in their neck from looking up at you,” she said after a few moments. “You’re so tall already, and then to be allllll the way up there, when they’re alllll the way down here.”

Thranduil laughed again. “That is why I do it, pen-neth. And why I wear my crown when I sit there, for it makes me taller still.”

“Can I see it?” asked Tilda, and Bard was about to step in, conscious that Tilda might be very close to stepping over the line between endearing and impertinent, but Thranduil only smiled. 

“Of course you may,” he said. “Come with me, and I will show you.” He swept her up the stairs to the throne, and set her upon the seat while he leaned over to open a box that sat close by upon a stand.

Bard, Bain and Sigrid exchanged another look, all of them eyes wide and eyebrows raised, although Bard tried not to show too much of his surprise upon his face. 

“How much do you want to bet Tilda’s the only person other than him who’s ever been allowed up there?” whispered Bain very quietly - he had learned from Tauriel over the winter just how sharp Elven ears could be - and Bard shook his head sharply, thinking this was not a conversation to have anywhere near Thranduil’s hearing, although he was having the same thoughts himself. He turned his attention back to Thranduil and Tilda, hoping that Bain would get the hint, knowing that Sigrid would not need it; her skills at diplomacy had been well-honed dealing with Dáin over the winter, and she already knew when to speak and when to save it for later.

Thranduil reached into the box and drew out a magnificent crown, not made of gold or encrusted with jewels as Bard had expected, but wrought from wood or from bone - it was difficult to tell - in great soaring, swooping points and tendrils, wound about with holly berries and ivy leaves. Bard heard Sigrid draw in a breath, but it was Tilda who gasped loudly enough for all of them to hear. 

“It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed, “and so different, it’s not like any of the crowns in the story books. How does it go on?”

“It sits upon the back of my head, pen-neth, like so,” Thranduil said, holding it to Tilda’s head; she looked around at it and giggled. 

“It’s too big for me! Will you put it on you, so I can see it?”

Thranduil arched an eyebrow at her, but he was smiling, and Tilda giggled, pressing her fingers to her mouth. 

“Please?” she asked, and Thranduil relented. 

“Very well. But you must hold this very carefully for me,” he said, setting the crown back in its box for a moment and taking the diadem from his head, handing it to Tilda, who took it between her hands with an awestruck expression and held it somewhat gingerly on her lap. Then Thranduil lifted the crown from its box again and set it upon his head, adjusting it so that it sat securely, the curves of the design gripping the contours of his skull perfectly. It framed the back of his head beautifully, and it did indeed make him look even taller, more ethereal, and definitely more intimidating, especially as he turned his head this way and that, the movements more than a little uncanny. It looked as though the forward portions sat against his cheeks, but when Bard narrowed his eyes to look more closely, he saw that it was an illusion, and it did not touch Thranduil’s skin forward of his ears. That was good, thought Bard, it would not be painful for him to wear it, and he was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed the next part of Thranduil and Tilda’s conversation.

“You look really scary,” said Tilda in a tiny voice, and Thranduil sank to his knees.

“Is that better, pen-neth?” he asked, his voice soft, and Tilda nodded.

“It really does make you even taller,” she said, still quietly. “And scary.”

“Well, that is usually the point,” said Thranduil. “When I receive people in this room, in this throne, they are supposed to be scared of me.”

“Because you’re the King,” said Tilda, and Thranduil nodded. “I thought you were scary at first,” Tilda said after a moment, and her lips twisted in a smile that told Bard, at least, that she was about to giggle. “Even if you’re very pretty. But now I know you and you aren’t scary any more.”

“And I hope that I will never have to be scary with you, or with your brother or your sister,” said Thranduil, one eyebrow quirked upwards. 

“I hope so too,” said Tilda. “We’ll be good. Anyway, we want to be friends with you, because Da is friends with you and you’re nice.”

“Well, then, I am honoured,” said Thranduil gravely, “and I would very much like to be friends with you, too.” 

“Good,” said Tilda. “Oh, those are holly berries in your crown! Is it because it was winter?”

Thranduil inclined his head with a smile. “It is, pen-neth. I always wear something appropriate to the season, if I have to wear my crown.”

“Then you need something else, because it’s spring now,” said Tilda. 

“I suppose I do,” said Thranduil. “Perhaps some flowers, or some new leaves, do you think?”

“Oh, yes,” said Tilda, clapping her hands again. “If Tauriel can take me to see the forest, maybe we can find some things for you!”

“I would like that very much, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “Shall we go and find Tauriel and see if she will take you into the woods?”

Tilda nodded enthusiastically, and Thranduil stood up, removing his crown and placing it back into its box, and then taking his diadem from Tilda’s careful hands and settling it back upon his head. He offered her his hand to help her down from the throne, and she kept a tight hold on it as they descended the stairs together. Bard had to suppress a smile at how funny they looked, the tall, graceful Elvenking and his irrepressible little daughter, but the sight also warmed his heart, and a glance aside at Sigrid and Bain told him that they, too, were smiling warmly at the sight they made. 

“Now,” said Thranduil. “I think we will find Tauriel with her comrades in the Guard, so let us first go there to find her, and Bain, you may wish to stay there and perhaps learn from them a few things which you can take back to your friends in Dale?”

Bain nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please. We’re none of us very good yet, but we’re getting better. I want Dale to have a proper guard, so that if anything ever happens again, we’ll be ready.”

“That is very wise,” said Thranduil, as Bard marvelled at how deeply his son had clearly been thinking about things. He had assumed Bain’s interest was only personal, the lure of learning to do fun things with his sword and his bow, but to hear him speak of the defence of Dale was something of a revelation. Clearly a father-son talk was required, to find out what else Bain had been thinking of over the long winter.

Thranduil led them from the throne room, Tilda holding one hand, and his other hand tucked through Bard’s arm; Bard couldn’t hide his smile at that. Sigrid and Bain followed, and Bard thought to himself that his children were already planning how he could leave Dale in safe hands. Sigrid for its government and leadership, and Bain for its defences; what would Tilda want to do when she grew up? With her ready curiosity and disarming charm, perhaps she would be the diplomat, winding the representatives of other peoples around her little finger as she was currently doing to Thranduil. Perhaps it would not be too long before the three of them would be ready to take on the challenge; Dale was a young community and perhaps it would need young leaders, once it had established itself.

And there was no better place for them to learn than here, he thought. As long as they remembered to keep an open mind, and learned from the Dwarves as well, the alliance between the three peoples would be secure for his lifetime and theirs, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	33. Plenty To Interest You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda goes off into the forest with Tauriel, Bain gets to train with the Woodland Guard, and Sigrid settles in to Thranduil's library. Which leaves Bard and Thranduil on their own to discuss important diplomatic matters.

Their first stop was the guards’ training arena. A handful of Elves were sparring with knives, including Tauriel, although they all stopped and snapped to attention when they saw that their King and his guests had entered the room. Bard thought he recognised one or two of them from their escort the previous day - had they still only been here less than a day? It felt like a lifetime already, in a multitude of wonderful ways. 

“Tauriel,” said Thranduil, “Lady Tilda would like to see a little of the forest, if you would not mind escorting her?”

Tauriel saluted and ran lightly to them, scooping Tilda up in her arms when the little girl reached for her. 

“It would be my pleasure, my King,” she said, and added, “Adarhanar,” in a low voice, a smile in her eyes. “Hello, pen-neth.”

“Thank you,” said Thranduil. “And the young lord Bain would like to watch your colleagues train, and perhaps take part a little, to exercise what he has learned from you. Could you recommend one or two who will be happy to look after him?”

“Of course,” said Tauriel. “Meludir has a little Westron, and I think you have learned enough of our language to make sense of the terms and commands, Bain?”

Bain nodded, tongue-tied, and Thranduil smiled. “Very well. If we might leave you to make the introductions, I know Lady Sigrid is very anxious to see my library, and of course the Lord of Dale himself and I have much to discuss.” Thranduil said this with an entirely straight face, but Bard did not miss the almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes in Bard’s direction that said he did not necessarily have diplomatic negotiations in mind. 

With great effort Bard kept his face as neutral as he could, not daring to meet Tauriel’s eyes, or Sigrid’s, though a shiver went through him. Instead he smiled and wished his younger children a good day, and then followed Thranduil as he offered his arm to Sigrid and conducted them out of the arena, to the sound of Tilda chattering excitedly to Tauriel about all she had done since last they had seen each other yesterday afternoon. 

Thranduil’s library was a large, vaulted space with many alcoves and arches, tables and chairs dotted around for the convenience of readers, and every wall lined from floor to ceiling with shelves filled with books in all manner of bindings. Sigrid drew in a breath, her eyes wide and shining, and turned to look up at Thranduil with an awestruck smile. 

“This is your library?” she almost gasped. “It’s so wonderful!”

“This is my library,” confirmed Thranduil with an answering smile. “And for the duration of your stay it is yours to do with as you wish. Most of the books are of course in the Sindarin and Silvan languages, but there are a few in Westron, and if you look upon that table there,” he gestured in the direction of a round table with a selection of books laid out upon it, “you will find a simple grammatical primer and a dictionary, and some other helpful texts. I will send for Feren to attend you when he is free, for as I said earlier he is an avid reader as well as my very capable lieutenant.”

Sigrid let out a tiny, excited squeal and flung her arms around Thranduil’s neck. “Thank you! Thank you so much, I can’t even begin to explain to you how wonderful it is to have access to a whole library, not just a book here and a book there. I used to have some in Lake-town that I bought for pennies from the merchants who came through, but of course they burned with everything else, and since then I’ve only had the book you sent, and Tilda’s and Bain’s to read. I’m going to establish a proper library in Dale, and everyone will be allowed to use it.”

Thranduil returned her embrace, and then set her gently away from him as she unwound her arms from his neck. “You are most welcome, melinettë-nín,” he said. “I hope you find plenty here to interest you, and I would be delighted to help you stock your library when you have a suitable building to house it, if there are enough books in Westron here to begin with.”

Sigrid dimpled at the endearment, eyes sparkling, and she thanked him enthusiastically, dipping a curtsey and then almost running for the table with the books. Thranduil smiled again, and offered Bard his arm to lead him from the room, for Sigrid was already oblivious to their presence.

“Now,” he murmured as he closed the library door softly behind them, “I do believe, my Lord of Dale, that we have a great many matters of diplomatic importance to discuss.”

“I believe we do,” said Bard, glancing at Thranduil to see a small smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “And I don’t believe the children will want us for a good few hours.”

“I am sure they would be most disappointed if we disturbed them,” said Thranduil, ushering Bard along the corridor that led back to his chambers. 

“They would indeed,” said Bard. “Thank you for finding them things to do that will interest them so much, by the way. I don’t think they’ll be bored while they’re here.” He chuckled. “And I’m sorry if they were a little too much at breakfast. I think they’ve well and truly adopted you by now.”

Thranduil smiled. “No need to worry,” he said, pushing open the door to his chambers and leading Bard inside. “They were all most charming, especially Tilda, and I very much enjoyed their company.” He made for the study, and Bard followed, intrigued. 

“I’m glad,” he said. “If she’s ever a bit much, just tell her so, gently, and she’ll back off. As long as you explain why she’s not to do something, she’ll understand, and she won’t do it.”

“I am inclined to let her get away with anything she wants,” said Thranduil, his eyes dancing, “as I am inclined to do the same with her brother and sister. And her father.” 

Bard blinked; all right, it was like that, was it? “Well, don’t let any of us take liberties,” he said a little lamely, and Thranduil laughed.

“I do not think there is any liberty I would not be pleased to give you,” he said. “Now, I must write a note to Feren to ask him to attend upon Sigrid in the library when he is free.” He turned away for a moment, taking up a piece of paper from the rack upon his desk and a pen from its place in the inkwell, and quickly wrote a few lines, waving the paper in the air to dry it and then folding and sealing it. Bard watched, happy just to look at him as he carried out even the most mundane of tasks, and thought to himself that he and his children would all have to be careful not to take too many liberties, despite what Thranduil said; he did not want to take advantage of his lover’s generosity and his apparent infatuation. But at the same time, Bard thought that it had been a very long time since Thranduil had had the opportunity to indulge anyone, and perhaps it was something he had not realised he needed. It was something to keep an eye on, Bard decided, but perhaps not something to worry about overly just yet, if at all.

“One moment,” said Thranduil, “and then I will be free to discuss all the very important diplomatic matters we have to talk about.” He flashed Bard a mischievous, heated smile, and swept out to the corridor, taking with him the note he had just written. Bard could just hear him saying something to the sentry - and then he was back, closing the main door behind him and coming into the study. He turned, locked the door, and then turned back again, advancing on Bard with heat in his eyes. “Now to diplomacy,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> adarhanar: uncle (literally: father-brother)  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I missed it yesterday (30 September 2020), but chapter 32 took me over 200k words posted to AO3 since June 2020! I don't know where it's all coming from, but long may it continue to do so. :D *party hats and streamers all round*


	34. Diplomatic Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard conduct some very important negotiations in Thranduil's study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh look, it's another rating-earning chapter. This one is entirely the fault of the lovely [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious), my invaluable beta, who suggested the use of the desk. :D :D :D

Thranduil dispatched the note to Feren with one of his sentries, and returned to his chambers, closing first the main door and then the study door, turning the key. He did not wish to be disturbed.

“Now,” he said, “to diplomacy,” and he stepped towards Bard, who was looking at him with barely-concealed desire in his dark eyes. Yes - the children were safe and entertained, and the pair of them were free to do whatever they wished. Negotiation between allies, perhaps, but the minutiae of ordinary diplomacy could not have been further from Thranduil’s mind.

Bard grinned. “Is that what it’s called?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Thranduil, placing one hand in the small of Bard’s back and pulling him close. “Although perhaps we will not spend much time negotiating the future of our nations today.”

“Maybe not,” said Bard, “but there’ll be time enough for that,” and he leaned up and kissed Thranduil soundly, his hands stealing up Thranduil’s back. 

“Indeed there will,” said Thranduil softly, tracing the fingers of his other hand down the side of Bard’s face, into his hair, softer now that it had a little of Thranduil’s hair oil in it, falling to Bard’s shoulders in waves. Bard hummed in pleasure as Thranduil’s fingers reached further into his hair, tracing over the edge of his ear; perhaps human ears were not as sensitive as Elven ones, but clearly they were still sensitive enough to elicit a positive response. 

After a moment, Bard eased back just enough to speak, an amused smile upon his lips. “If we’re not actually seeing to diplomatic matters,” he said, a little tentatively, “why are we…in here, rather than, say, your bedroom?”

Thranduil chuckled, deep in his throat. “Ah, but nobody else knows that we are not ‘seeing to diplomatic matters’, although I would argue that we are,” he said. “And where else would we do such a thing than my study? There are clearly not enough of us to require a larger room and a negotiating table, after all.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard. “Given that it’s just the two of us -“ He smiled a little shyly, and Thranduil could tell that Bard was wondering a little what he had in mind. 

“Given that it is just the two of us,” he murmured, “we do not need a negotiating table, but perhaps -“ he walked Bard backwards very slowly, kissing him all the way, “perhaps my desk might do, for the negotiations I believe we must complete.”

“Oh,” said Bard as he collided, very gently, with the desk, and Thranduil flicked his eyes down, yes, the desk was just the right height for what he was thinking of. He nudged the chair out of the way with one foot and advanced upon Bard a little further, just enough that Bard had to lean back a little and shift his stance to set his feet apart so that Thranduil could stand in between his legs. 

“Mmm,” said Thranduil, “yes, I think so. Now, shall I put you upon the desk and have you like this, or shall I turn you around and have you _over_ the desk?”

“Oh,” said Bard again, and Thranduil had to suppress a smile at the look on his face, at once intrigued and shy and completely at a loss as to which he would prefer.

“Each has its advantages,” he murmured, tucking a few strands of hair around Bard’s ear and leaning in to draw his tongue up the edge of it. “If I put you upon the desk, I can see you, and you can see me. But if I put you over it, I can feel you pressed against me from here to here -“ he drew his fingers from the back of Bard’s thigh up to his shoulder, “and my hair will fall against your back and over your face, and I think you will like that very much, will you not, meleth-nín?”

Bard shuddered under his touch, and drew in one shaking breath and then another. “I…I would like that,” he whispered, tipping his head back as Thranduil began to kiss down his neck. “More than - _oh_ \- more than almost _anything_.”

“Then I have my answer,” said Thranduil, pushing Bard’s jacket off his shoulders, and when Bard had shrugged it off and cast it aside, he slid his hands up under Bard’s tunic and undershirt, smoothing them up Bard’s torso and chest and back until Bard grasped the hems of both garments and pulled them up and over his head in one swift movement, dropping them to the floor as he pulled Thranduil in for a desperate, hungry kiss. 

Thranduil indulged him for a few long, delicious moments, and then eased back with a dark smile, turning Bard around to face the desk and nudging him to lean forward and place his hands upon the smooth leather-inlaid surface. This had the delightful effect of making the muscles in Bard’s arms and across his shoulders suddenly quite beautifully defined, and Thranduil smoothed his hands down from Bard’s shoulders to his wrists and back up again, leaning forward so that his hair would brush against Bard’s back. His diadem was still keeping some of it out of his eyes, so he took it off and laid it upon the desk and then shook his hair loose as he leaned forward so that his body pressed against Bard’s back and his hair fell across Bard’s face, just as he had promised, and he laid an open-mouthed kiss over the top of Bard’s spine, grazing his teeth against the skin. 

Bard shuddered again and whimpered softly and arched back against him, and Thranduil sent one hand stealing round to skate across his chest, tracing fingers around and over one nipple and then the other, his tongue meanwhile working a trail down Bard’s spine to his waistband. He sent his fingers lower, pulling at the laces that fastened Bard’s leggings and easing them down, just far enough for his purposes, and reached into the top drawer of the desk for a small glass vial. 

Bard let out a breathless laugh when he saw it. “You planned this,” he said, and although his words might have been accusatory his tone was more delighted and surprised. 

“Perhaps I did,” said Thranduil. “Or perhaps I just thought it would be as well to be prepared, just in case we found ourselves needing to conduct diplomatic negotiations in here.”

Bard laughed again, turning his head so that he could look Thranduil in the eyes. “You planned this. I’m not complaining, mind, just - it’s just funny, that’s all.” He shifted a little, arching back and rubbing himself against the length of Thranduil’s body, and Thranduil smiled and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his ear, and another to the top of his spine again. 

“Well,” he said, “I am glad you have no complaints so far. Although if there is ever anything - _anything_ \- that makes you uncomfortable, you must promise to tell me at once and I will stop.”

“I promise,” said Bard. “I know I haven’t - done most of this before, but trust me, I want to. But if there’s ever anything - I’ll say, I promise.”

“Good,” said Thranduil. “And I promise the same.” He flipped open the hinged stopper of the bottle and poured a little of the contents onto his fingers and then resealed the bottle, dropping it onto the desk and trailing his fingers down Bard’s spine, nudging his feet a little further apart and drawing one slick finger over his entrance, once, twice, and then pushing very carefully inside. Bard gasped, dropping his head and rolling his shoulders, and then arched his back, pushing back against Thranduil and taking his finger a little further in. Thranduil leaned over him again, bracing himself with one hand upon the desk and letting his hair fall around them again as he gently, insistently stroked and nudged and coaxed Bard to relax enough to admit a second finger, and then a third, nudging against the bundle of nerves inside him that made him arch and cry out, over and over. 

Shifting his weight a little, Thranduil undid his leggings and freed himself, grasping the vial with his free hand and manipulating it so that he could slick himself quickly but thoroughly, and then replaced his fingers at Bard’s entrance with the head of his arousal, pushing in slowly, gradually, carefully, bracing one hand upon the desk again as he moved the other to take Bard in hand as he came to rest fully within him. Bard let out a long, shuddering sigh, and his indrawn breath was almost a moan; Thranduil drew in one breath himself, then another, and then began to move, slowly, his hand stroking in time with his long, leisurely thrusts, his hair draped across Bard’s back and falling around his face as he had promised. He bent his head to kiss and lick and bite his way across the top of Bard’s back from one shoulder to the other, letting out one soft moan after another, mingling with Bard’s low, helpless cries as Thranduil worked him tantalisingly slowly towards his peak. 

“There,” said Thranduil softly, a little breathlessly, “I think you do indeed like this very much, do you not?”

“Mmmh,” murmured Bard, as though summoning words from deep inside him, “yes, _so much_ , only…only I need…” He trailed off, and Thranduil smiled against his skin. 

“A little more?” he asked, and Bard nodded helplessly, his head hanging down between his braced arms. “I think I can grant you that request.” 

Gradually Thranduil increased his pace, nudging Bard’s legs just a little further apart and leaning further over him so as to reach deeper inside him, thrusting harder now, and a little faster, a little faster, keeping pace with his hand on Bard’s arousal, stroking a little more tightly, a little more roughly, just enough to drive him as high as he could before he fell.

For a moment all was silent except the sound of their breathing, hitching gasps and shuddering, moaning sighs, and then Bard hauled in a breath and collected himself just enough to speak. 

“I’m - oh, Valar, I love you - I’m going to - I can’t -“ He whimpered frantically and Thranduil pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, biting very gently. 

“Then don’t,” he whispered. “Do not hold yourself back. Let yourself go. I am here and I will catch you.”

Bard whimpered again, softly, and then hauled in another breath as he tensed and arched and came undone, letting out a long, ragged cry and tightening convulsively so that Thranduil could only hold on for another two thrusts, three, and then he too was falling, crying out as it crashed over him and ebbed very slowly away.

For a long moment they were still, and again the silence was only broken by their breathing, ragged and uneven, as they slowly came back to themselves, and Bard sank down to rest upon his elbows and forearms, his head lowered; Thranduil shifted to lay his head upon Bard’s upper back, wrapping his arm around Bard’s chest and holding him tightly.

“You are quite delightful,” murmured Thranduil eventually, “and when I am completing my very dull paperwork, I will think of this moment and I will no longer be bored.”

Bard chuckled breathlessly. “I’m glad to be of service, then,” he said, and Thranduil laid a kiss upon his skin.

“You are so much more than that,” he said. “So very much more.”

“Good,” said Bard, and then he chuckled again. “I’m never going to be able to do any paperwork again without thinking of this. I’ll be spending all my time trying to keep a straight face.”

Thranduil laughed. “Then I am not alone,” he said. “We have each given the other something distracting to think about when we must attend to our duties.” He reached over to the drawer from which he had taken the vial of oil, and retrieved a soft cloth, which he used to clean Bard, and the desk - and, once he had slipped regretfully out of Bard’s body, himself, before he put it aside.

Bard shook his head. “You really did plan this, didn’t you? Right down to the last detail, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Not exactly,” said Thranduil as he eased to his feet, drawing Bard up with him as they each resettled and relaced their leggings. “I thought we would need both those things, and I hoped that we would need them in circumstances at least a little similar to this, but I did not plan the specifics. Although I think you still do not mind.”

“You’d be right,” said Bard, turning to draw Thranduil into an embrace and brush a kiss across his mouth. “I really, really don’t mind. Especially - oh, like that, with your hair and your clothes against my skin, and _you_ against me, around me, it felt - oh, it felt wonderful. Like I was completely enveloped by you, like there was only you and me in all the world.”

Thranduil smiled and rested his forehead against Bard’s for a moment. “Then perhaps we should find an opportunity to do this again, sooner rather than later,” he said. “But for now, I would very much like to lie on the chaise with you for a little while. The children will be well occupied for a while yet, and I think that our continued negotiations will be much easier if we are both comfortable.”

Bard glanced around the room and let out a soft laugh when he saw that there was indeed a chaise-longue in front of the fireplace. “Somehow I am not surprised that you have a chaise to lie on in your study,” he said. “I suppose you drape yourself artfully upon it to read your papers and so on.”

“Of course I do,” said Thranduil with a mischievous smile. “Come, let me show you.” He drew Bard over to the chaise and arranged himself so that he was lying along it somewhat languidly, his head pillowed on one arm upon the raised side of the chaise. With his other hand he pulled Bard down to lie alongside him, Bard’s back to his chest and Bard’s head alongside his own. He draped his arm over Bard’s and brought his hand up to rest on Bard’s chest, over his heart, and closed his eyes for a moment. They surely had much more to negotiate, but for now he was content to lie here quietly and listen to Bard’s soft breathing, the beating of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	35. Forget Your Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard conduct some more negotiations (once Bard has had a well-earned nap), and Bard gives Thranduil the unexpurgated version of what Dáin said when he asked for the gems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're earning the rating again. This chapter, like the last, is entirely the fault of my indispensable beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious), who mentioned Thranduil's boots in a comment on an earlier chapter and reminded me that I do have a terrible soft spot for them. So, it turns out, does Bard. :D

They lay for a while on the chaise, and Thranduil listened as Bard’s breathing slowed and deepened; a glance at his face told Thranduil that his lover had fallen asleep. Well, it was unfair to expect him to have the stamina of an Elf, and besides, he had had a long, hard winter during which, by his own admission, he had not slept well. Thranduil thought that he had probably not given himself enough opportunities to sleep, into the bargain; Bard was driven by his duty to his people, and to his children, and Thranduil had not needed to read too far between the lines of Bard’s letters to know that he had been spending every waking minute - and many when he should have been asleep - trying to ensure that he did the best he could for all concerned.

And of course, Bard’s life had hardly been a bed of roses even before the Dwarves had arrived and sown chaos everywhere they turned. Long hours and days plying his barge back and forth across the lake for little reward, the worry of earning enough to bring up his children, especially after the loss of his wife; the Master’s persecution, which Thranduil had only gleaned from asides and half-understood references. Bard did not like to talk about the Master, that much was clear, but the reasons for the animosity from Lake-town’s self-appointed ruler were not. Perhaps it was only Bard’s sense of honour and of duty to his people again, making him speak up and make a nuisance of himself when he saw injustice and wrongdoing.

What was clear to Thranduil was that Bard had never once in his adult life taken some time for himself, to rest and regain his energy, and let others take care of his responsibilities. It seemed as though Sigrid was trying to take some of them from his shoulders, and Bain perhaps a few others, but they had neither of them been entirely successful. And besides, they were children; Sigrid perhaps not for much longer, but they did not deserve to lose what was left of their childhoods out of the sense of duty and caring they had inherited from their father. 

Well, then. Thranduil would simply have to make sure that every last one of them rested, and enjoyed themselves, and forgot their responsibilities for as long as they were here in his halls with him. Tilda would not be a problem, he did not think, and Bain and Sigrid both enjoyed their respective pursuits, even if they were learning them for responsible reasons, but Bard - well. Perhaps they would have to have a few actual conversations about diplomatic matters, but Thranduil was determined that Bard would spend most of his time here alternately enjoying his children’s company, enjoying Thranduil’s company - and here Thranduil could not help a small, delighted smile at the thought of what that might entail - and sleeping.

Before too long, Bard shifted and yawned, and looked up at Thranduil with a sheepish smile. “I fell asleep on you again, didn’t I?” he said, and Thranduil pressed a kiss into his hair.

“You did, but I do not mind. You have spent the winter rebuilding your city with little sleep or opportunity to rest; you are entitled to be exhausted. This is a chance for you to take the rest you need.”

“It’s more than a little embarrassing, though,” said Bard. “Every time we - you know - I end up falling asleep on you afterwards.”

Thranduil laughed softly and kissed Bard’s hair again. “It gives me the opportunity to watch you as you sleep, and you already know, I think, that I could quite happily look at you all day.”

“Still,” said Bard. “I feel as though I’m wasting time we could be…using a little more productively, that’s all. You know,” he grinned, shifting to lie on his back and look up at Thranduil, “negotiating, and so on.”

“None of your time here will be wasted,” said Thranduil, smoothing a few strands of hair out of Bard’s eyes. “And rest is just as important as negotiation. Although if you are now sufficiently rested, I can think of one or two things that might perhaps require our attention.”

Bard stretched, and curled one hand at the back of Thranduil’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. “I suppose we do have a few things to see to. The matter of this chaise, for example. Or -“ he paused, and grinned. “Or then again, I think I may need to see to _you_ , upon that desk of yours.”

Thranduil laughed, low in his chest, and pressed a kiss to Bard’s mouth, long and lingering, sliding his tongue against Bard’s. “Upon the desk, you say?”

“Well,” said Bard after a moment, a little breathlessly, “it was a very hard decision you had me make, earlier. And since we only explored one of the options, I think perhaps now it is high time we explored the other one. With, perhaps, a little reversal of roles.”

“We must investigate the matter fully, indeed,” said Thranduil, giving in to the shiver that wanted to ripple through him at Bard’s words. “It would be most remiss of us to do any less.”

“In that case,” said Bard, pulling Thranduil down to lie fully atop him and arching up against him, “I think we should not neglect our duties a moment longer.”

Thranduil rolled his hips down firmly. “I think you are quite right. It would not do at all if we were to miss anything.”

“Not at all,” said Bard around a gasp, and he pulled Thranduil down for another kiss. “Although we don’t seem to be making very much progress.”

Thranduil laughed again. “Would you like me to help you with that?” He sat up, kneeling astride Bard’s hips, and grasped his arms to pull him up into a sitting position, capturing his mouth for another searing, burning kiss. “Perhaps we might reach our goal by stages.”

“Stages sounds good,” said Bard, venturing a hand down Thranduil’s torso and tracing his fingers over the front of Thranduil’s leggings. 

Thranduil shivered and let out a low moan, suddenly thoroughly aroused, more than he had already been from their flirtatious banter. He swept himself off the chaise and to his feet, pulling Bard up with him; never mind reaching their goal in stages. “Come, then,” he said. “You mentioned something about my desk?”

“Mmm,” said Bard, “I did,” and he placed his hands on Thranduil’s shoulders, kissing him soundly as he backed him towards the desk, nudging him to sit upon it when they reached it. He stood there for a moment, in between Thranduil’s thighs, looking him up and down with a considering expression upon his face, and Thranduil quirked his eyebrows upwards.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, and Bard grinned at him, utterly unrepentantly.

“Oh,” he said, “I am weighing up the advantages of having you out of all of your clothes, or only the necessary pieces.” 

Thranduil drew in a breath to reply, but before he could speak Bard leaned in to nibble at the tip of his ear, and his decision was made. “Only the necessary pieces,” he half-gasped, his fingers already at the lacing of Bard’s leggings. “I find this stage in our negotiations to be suddenly very urgent.”

“Necessary pieces it is, then,” said Bard, unlacing Thranduil’s leggings and then breaking off to remove his boots, casting them aside somewhat unceremoniously and then returning to the leggings, peeling them down as Thranduil raised himself off the surface of the desk to enable him to remove them. “It’s a shame to take your boots off, though.”

Thranduil laughed darkly. “Put them back on me if you like. If you would like to feel them when I wrap my legs around you.”

Bard paused to consider for half a moment. “Not this time,” he said. “Not if I don’t get to feel them against my skin, if I’m only taking off the necessaries.”

“Take your shirt off, then,” said Thranduil breathlessly, “and put my boots back on me, only do it quickly.”

Bard huffed out a laugh that sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a moan and pulled his shirt and tunic over his head in one movement, pulling away to crouch and retrieve Thranduil’s boots, easing them back onto his feet and drawing them up his calves to his knees, lacing them carefully and then standing back up; meanwhile Thranduil had retrieved the glass vial from where it lay discarded upon the desk and had already slicked his own fingers and begun to prepare himself, delighting in the sound Bard made when he realised what he was doing.

“Come here,” said Thranduil. “I want you, and I am not willing to wait any longer.” He shoved Bard’s leggings down far enough to free him and then stroked him once, twice with his already-oiled fingers before shifting and wrapping his legs around Bard’s waist, pulling him inside in a long, swift movement that made both of them cry out. Thranduil curled his hands over Bard’s shoulders, spreading his fingers over Bard’s upper back, and tightened his legs about Bard’s waist, so that the soft leather of his boots slid against Bard’s skin.

“I have…oh, I’ve been thinking about those boots of yours since… _oh_ , since that first night,” gasped Bard as he began to move, a little tentatively at first, Thranduil had not bothered to prepare himself as assiduously this time and he was tighter, not quite as slick, and the friction was almost too much. “You didn’t take them off, and…” He trailed off, evidently losing the thread of his thought as Thranduil bucked against him, taking him deeper, and in a moment he shifted, no longer bracing his hands on the desk but splaying them against the small of Thranduil’s back, sliding down to cup his backside and curling his fingers as he pulled Thranduil further forward to meet his thrusts. 

“I am - _ai, Valar_ \- more than happy to indulge you, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil around a helpless moan, tipping his head back so that his hair draped across the surface of the desk, _oh_ , so close, just a little - faster, harder - and Bard wrapped one hand around him and stroked hard, burying his head between Thranduil’s head and his shoulder, nibbling at the skin there, almost biting, and - _there, yes, yes_ , Thranduil fell headlong into his release as swiftly as his arousal had taken him, dragging Bard down with him as he went. 

Thranduil could not move for a moment, his hands upon Bard’s shoulders the only thing keeping him from collapsing bonelessly onto his back across the desk. Bard pressed a kiss over the place where he had bitten and then raised his head, just as Thranduil raised his so that their eyes met in a gaze at once truly open and all-seeing; Thranduil felt as though he were exposed down to his very soul, and yet he could not look away.

After a long, almost endless moment, Bard broke the spell, brushing the tenderest of kisses across Thranduil’s lips, and Thranduil closed his eyes, leaning into the contact and sighing very softly. 

“I will love you until the end of time,” he murmured, “I could do nothing else.”

“For all the time I have, I will love you with all of my heart,” said Bard softly, urgently. “And afterwards, if I know myself wherever I end up, I will love you there too. I am yours, completely.”

“And I belong to you,” said Thranduil, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed; he did not think he could recall feeling quite this way in all of his life. “And I would say we have concluded this stage of our negotiations quite successfully.”

“I’ll say we have,” said Bard, letting out a breathless little laugh. “You’ll be the end of me, if we carry on like this.”

“Not yet, I hope,” said Thranduil. “That I could not countenance. Perhaps we should adjourn negotiations for now.”

“Good idea,” said Bard. “Otherwise I’ll never be able to keep my eyes open for this formal dinner you mentioned yesterday.”

Thranduil laughed and kissed him. “And we cannot possibly have that. We must appear in public in our formal roles at least once while you are here, no matter that my people may guess the true nature of what we share between us. Appearances must still be maintained.”

“I’d be tempted to say ‘bugger appearances’,” said Bard, “but I think I might need the respite. Just until later, obviously.”

“Obviously,” said Thranduil, laughing again as he reached for the cloth again to clean them up. “And I suppose we should make ourselves presentable and go in search of the children before too long, for we will all need time to prepare ourselves for the feast.”

“We should,” said Bard, withdrawing with a reluctant sigh and allowing Thranduil to tend to him with the cloth before he pulled his leggings up and refastened them. When Thranduil made to take his boots off, so that he could put his leggings back on, Bard stilled his hands at the laces with a smile. “May I?” he asked softly. “I do like them so very much.”

“Of course you may,” Thranduil smiled, and he closed his eyes as Bard unlaced the boots and drew them gently down and off his feet, his touches so soft and almost reverent. And then Bard smoothed his leggings back on, all the way up his legs and then the rest of the way up as Thranduil shifted upon the desk, and then the boots were back, eased up with gentle fingers. Thranduil sighed softly and opened his eyes again just in time to see Bard pulling his tunic and shirt back over his head, his hair a little dishevelled; Bard smoothed his hand over it but did not succeed in improving it.

“Come here,” murmured Thranduil, and he gently tidied Bard’s hair as best he could without completely rebraiding it, finishing with a kiss to Bard’s forehead as he slid from the desktop to his feet. “Now, let us go and find out what the children have been doing while we have been attending to our important state business.” He chuckled as a thought occurred to him. “By the way, what exactly did Dáin say to you when he told you to ‘bugger off back to the lake’, that you did not want to say in front of the children?”

Bard shook his head, laughing. “Well, I told you that he told me to bugger off back to the lake and then when I got there to bugger off until I got to here. After that, he said, I could bugger you and your entire army if I thought it would do the slightest bit of good towards changing his mind. And then he said he wouldn’t wonder if I was already doing at least some of that.” He rubbed at his beard with a wry smile. “I neither confirmed nor denied his suspicions. I thought it was probably better not to honour them with a response.”

Thranduil flung back his head and laughed loud and long at that. “I think you thought entirely correctly, meleth-nín. Let Dáin wonder. It is none of his business, for it affects him neither personally nor politically, and quite frankly I am greatly entertained at the thought of it driving him to distraction.”

“Me too,” said Bard. “I think he’s not as bad as he likes to make out - his bark’s worse than his bite, all right. And he does seem to like the little ones, and Tauriel, though I don’t think he’d ever admit it. We could do worse for an ally, I think, and he’s showing no signs of the gold-sickness, Balin says, so on that count alone he’s doing well.”

“We shall see,” said Thranduil, not quite willing to give Dáin the benefit of the doubt just yet - but then again, he had agreed to hand over the gems. So perhaps he really was serious about this alliance; only time would tell, but Thranduil thought that the alliance between the Woodland Realm and Dale would last, for as long as Bard and his family were in charge, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	36. Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil collect the children from their respective activities; Bain only has one word for it all.

They ran into Tauriel and Tilda in the corridor, once Thranduil had unlocked his study and let them out, both of them smoothing their clothes down and Bard, at least, hoping that what they had spent their time doing was not written all over his face. Luckily, Tilda was full of excitement about her trip into the forest with Tauriel, and she was carrying a basket full of spring flowers and leaves, so everyone was far too distracted to notice. At least, Bard really hoped so.

“Can we put the flowers in your crown?” asked Tilda brightly, and Thranduil smiled down at her.

“Of course we may, pen-neth,” he said. “Would you like to come with me now? I must have my crown suitably decorated for tonight’s feast, after all.”

Tilda bounced on her toes. “Can I, Da, can I please?”

“I don’t see why not, kitten,” he said. “We were just coming to look for you, and for Bain and Sigrid, too. We’ll all have to scrub up nicely for the feast.”

“Crown first though,” said Tilda firmly. “Otherwise the flowers will all wilt.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil, just as seriously as he would have spoken to any visiting diplomat, Bard was sure of it. “Perhaps Tauriel would like to take your father to fetch Bain and Sigrid while you and I renew my crown in the throne room?” He glanced at Tauriel, who nodded obediently, and then at Bard, this time not granting permission but seeking it. 

“All right,” said Bard. “We’ll meet you there, shall we?”

Tilda squealed with excitement and grabbed onto Thranduil’s hand, already attempting to tug him in the direction of the throne room. Thranduil smiled, very graciously, and went with her, matching his long stride to hers so that it looked a little less as though she were pulling him along.

Bard and Tauriel exchanged a glance, and then a smile, and then, once Thranduil and Tilda were far enough away that Thranduil’s sharp ears couldn’t catch them, a laugh.

“You are so good for him,” said Tauriel. “You, and the children. You’ve done for him what you’ve done for me.” She paused, quirked an eyebrow and laughed again. “Well, perhaps not _exactly_ , but I think you know what I mean.”

Bard chuckled a little sheepishly and chose to ignore the colour rising up his face. “We’ve just been ourselves, all along,” he said. “But I think he’s been good for us. As have you, although - not _exactly_ in the same way.” He grinned at her, and she laughed again.

“I’m happy for you. Truly, I am, and for him. And you know I can never thank you and the children enough for what you have done for me - what you are still doing.”

“How are you feeling?” Bard asked as they began to walk along the corridor in the direction of the training arena; it was only fair to collect the children in the order they had been dropped off, after all, and he did not want to rob Sigrid unfairly of her time in the library.

Tauriel did not answer straight away, and when Bard glanced at her face he saw that she was considering her reply. 

“I am…a little better,” she said eventually. “It hurts no less, but I have distractions, and friends, and that helps.”

“And being home -?” Bard prompted, unsure if she would be finding it painful or soothing to be here, knowing that she would have to leave again.

“It is many things,” said Tauriel slowly. “It is sweet to see my friends, and to be back in familiar surroundings. But by the same token it is bitter, because I cannot stay, and because everywhere I look there are things that remind me of - of him. Even though he was here for only a night and half a day, and much of that was in the dungeons.”

“Because you met him here,” said Bard. “That I can understand. There are - there _were_ places in Lake-town that still reminded me of Maudie right up until the moment the dragon burned it down.”

“And now all you have is memories,” said Tauriel quietly, and Bard was not sure if she was talking about him, or herself, or possibly both of them. 

“I’m lucky,” he said. “I have the children.”

“And so do I,” said Tauriel, “after a fashion. They helped me heal him, after all. And I think they all liked him. We talk of him sometimes, but we none of us knew him well enough to have more than a handful of memories between us.” She sighed, and Bard rested a sympathetic hand on her arm for a moment.

“I don’t think it’s the quantity that counts,” he said, “rather the quality.”

“I suppose so,” said Tauriel softly, “but even so, I cannot quite keep myself from wishing that we had had more time, or that we could have known each other better.”

“I wish I could tell you that it fades with time,” said Bard, “but I’d be lying to you. I feel that way about Maudie still, and we had more than ten years together, and three children. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”

“I will learn to live with it,” said Tauriel. “I can do nothing else.”

“Well, if there’s ever anything we can do, you know you need only ask,” said Bard.

“I know, and I thank you,” said Tauriel. “For now, all I need is your friendship and that of the children, and such brief visits to my home as I am permitted by my King.”

Bard sent her a smile, hoping it was reassuring. “Speaking of which, let’s see whether Bain’s made it through his training with your comrades in one piece.” He kept his tone light, but in truth he was a little worried that his middle child’s enthusiasm might have outweighed his skill.

“They will not have allowed him to come to harm,” said Tauriel, “although I suspect they will probably have worn him out. They have not had experience of children for a very long time.”

“Well, as long as he hasn’t worn them out, or outstayed his welcome, I think we’ll count that as a win,” said Bard around a chuckle.

As it turned out, Bain was bubbling with excitement when they found him, enthusiastically chatting with the guards in a mixture of Westron and very broken Elvish, and his eyes lit up when he saw his father and Tauriel approaching across the arena.

“Da! Da, this is _so amazing_! I’ve learned five new moves with the sword, and Meludir showed me how to sight the target so that I hit it dead in the middle with my arrow, and I hit it, Da, right in the middle, _seven times_!”

“Did you now?” said Bard, smiling at his son’s enthusiasm. “Well done, lad!”

“Your son is a fast learner, my Lord,” said Meludir carefully, his accent stronger than Tauriel’s or Thranduil’s, more of a lilt over the words. “Tauriel has trained him well.”

“I did my best,” said Tauriel, “but without access to proper weapons, Bain’s training has been a little patchy.”

“Perhaps we can find something suitable in the armoury,” said Meludir. “Today he has been using our weapons, but they are a little large for him yet.”

“That would be very kind of you,” said Bard. 

“Oh, yes please!” said Bain excitedly. “And thank you, I mean. And thank you for today. I’ve had an _amazing_ time!”

“It has been our pleasure,” said Meludir with a smile, and the other guards nodded, those who understood Westron at least; some of them were smiling somewhat indulgently, and Bard guessed that Bain had endeared himself to all of them with his keenness to learn. “Perhaps the young lord might be permitted to train with us again another day.”

“Oh, Da, can I?” asked Bain, and Bard couldn’t suppress his smile.

“As long as the King doesn’t mind you taking up his guards’ time,” he said, “I’m sure we can arrange something for you.” Privately he thought that Thranduil would not mind at all, but for appearances’ sake it was as well to pretend that the King would not necessarily give Bard and his family anything they asked for. Tauriel’s smile told Bard that she was thinking the same thing, but she said nothing.

“Come on, then,” said Bard, “let’s go and find Sigrid and Tilda, because I am sure all three of you need plenty of time to get yourselves ready for dinner tonight, if it’s to be a formal affair. Say goodbye to your new friends for now, and we’ll see about getting you back here again another time.”

Bain grinned happily and waved at the guards. “Thank you for an amazing day!” he said, and then something in very halting Elvish. The guards smiled and saluted as one, Bain returning the salute somewhat less smartly, and then they turned back to their training; Bain let his father and Tauriel lead him out of the arena. 

“Good luck getting Sigrid out of the library,” he said after a moment. “Especially if the King sent his lieutenant to study with her. She’ll be busy telling him stuff.”

“Or listening to him tell her stuff,” said Bard mildly. “You know how much she’s enjoying learning new things, just as you are.”

Bain snorted but managed not to make any more comments about his sister as they made their way along the corridors towards the library, instead telling Bard and Tauriel about everything he had learned, all the movements and techniques the guards had taught him, and how excited he was to take all his new knowledge back to his friends in Dale.

When they reached the library, Bard eased the door open and peeped inside, to see Sigrid at the table where Thranduil had had the reference books laid out for her, Feren at her side and both their heads bent over a book, both of them utterly engrossed in their quiet conversation. But Feren heard the door, and he turned his head - he did not move quite as uncannily as Thranduil did, Bard caught himself thinking, but it was still rather like watching an animal or a bird of prey - and then pushed back his chair and stood, saluting; Sigrid dragged herself away from the book, looking up with a dreamy, half-focussed look in her eyes.

“My Lord of Dale,” Feren said, “Lord Bain, Tauriel.” 

“Good afternoon, Feren,” said Bard with a smile. “Hello, Sigrid. Have you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart?”

“Oh, Da,” said Sigrid, her eyes sharpening as she returned to the real world, but the dreamy expression still upon her face. “Da, it’s wonderful. So many books, and so much to learn, Feren has helped me enormously, I can already understand more than I could before.”

Feren smiled. “Lady Sigrid overstates my involvement,” he said. “She is already most accomplished, and in truth I think that she has made more contribution to my Westron than I have to her Sindarin.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Your Westron is basically perfect,” she said. “I only taught you some slang, and some of our Lake-town words.”

“My Lady is too kind,” said Feren nobly, and Bard couldn’t hide a smile; clearly his oldest had very successfully made friends with Thranduil’s lieutenant.

“Is it time for dinner, Da?” asked Sigrid, a wistful note in her voice letting Bard know that she was hoping the answer would be ‘no’.

“Time to get ready for dinner, at least,” said Bard. “I hate to disappoint you.”

“I thought you’d say that,” said Sigrid with a little sigh. “But Th- the King said I could come back whenever I liked. So Feren, if you’re not busy tomorrow, or -?”

“It would be my pleasure, my Lady,” said Feren with a little bow. “But if you will excuse me, I must go, for I too must prepare for the dinner.”

“Of course,” said Bard. “And we have to go and fetch Tilda, and hope that she hasn’t run the King completely ragged in the meantime.”

Feren’s eyebrows went up the tiniest bit, but he was far too well trained to show any real surprise, Bard thought, and he saluted them and made his way off down the corridor, leaving Bard and his family to find their way back to the throne room. Bard thought he remembered the way, but he was glad to have Tauriel with him to ensure they did not get lost.

All of a sudden they came out of a corridor into the wide, high space of the throne room, and Bard caught his breath again at the sheer majesty of the architecture, the flying arches and curving stairways. It really was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen, he thought - except perhaps for the King to whom it belonged. 

They made their way up towards the throne, and as they rounded the last bend in the stairway, Bard had to stop for a moment, his heart catching at the sight before him. Thranduil sat upon his throne, Tilda in his lap and the crown in her lap, and the expression on Thranduil’s face as he looked down at Bard’s little girl took Bard’s breath away with the depth of affection and joy in it. _He is so beautiful_ , thought Bard, _and he loves my children, how did I ever come to be here? I don’t deserve him_.

And then Thranduil, hearing their approach, looked up and met Bard’s eyes, and Bard felt his heart stop in his chest at the absolute, unfettered _love_ he saw in Thranduil’s eyes. He hoped Thranduil could read the same from his, but all he could think was _how can I ever be worthy of him? he is a king of the most beautiful, most noble creatures in the world and I am a simple bargeman playing at being a lord, I have no business here._

And then Tilda broke the spell, calling out, “Da! Everyone, come and see, we’ve made Ada’s crown all spring-like and beautiful!”

Bard heard Tauriel and Sigrid each suck in a breath, and a glance at them told Bard that they were wearing identical expressions of confusion, and Bain, too, was frowning as though he did not quite believe what he had heard. Bard had not got nearly as far as he had hoped with his Elvish lessons with Tauriel over the winter, he had not had the time, but the word Tilda had used for Thranduil was certainly not Westron, and he had the distinct feeling his youngest child had just taken an extremely large liberty with the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Good grief, we've broken 70k words and 1500 hits! *party streamers and snacks all round again* You are all awesome, and I bloody love the lot of you. <333333
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	37. A Small Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda helps Thranduil decorate his crown, and asks him a very important question.

Thranduil allowed Tilda to lead him towards the throne room, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; he thought he heard a faint laugh behind them from Bard and Tauriel, but he found that he did not mind. Tilda _was_ funny in her complete disregard for all royal protocol - well, she did not know the first thing about it, of course she disregarded it. Thranduil found it quite refreshing; he could not remember the last time anyone had treated him so completely like an ordinary person. Well, there was Bard, of course, but even he had started out treating Thranduil like the King that he was. Tilda seemed completely unintimidated by him, despite his height, his status, his otherness, and Thranduil could not help but find it endearing.

They ascended the steps to his throne, and Thranduil set Tilda on the seat while he fetched his crown out of its box, intending to stand over her while they worked on it, but before he could quite realise what she was doing, she had slid to her feet again and tugged his sleeve to make him sit down, then climbed up onto his lap. She cradled her basket of leaves and flowers upon her own lap, and turned to smile up at him as he slightly tentatively settled his arms around her. She had sat in his lap at breakfast, it was true, and he had been just as surprised then by how comfortable she apparently felt around him. 

“Well, pen-neth,” he said after a moment, when he had regained his composure. “First we must take out all the old decoration.” He held the crown in front of her, and she stretched out curious fingers to take hold of one of the sprigs of ivy, although she paused and looked up at him for permission before she actually removed it from the crown. “Go on,” he said gently, “take it out.”

Tilda tugged on the sprig of ivy, carefully untangling it from the spines of the crown, and set it aside on the arm of the throne, drawing in a little gasp as it began to wilt. “Oh,” she said, “it was perfect and now it’s dying.”

“There is a small magic upon the crown,” said Thranduil, “which keeps its decorations as fresh as the moment they were picked. When they are removed, the spell is lifted.”

“Oh,” said Tilda again. “That’s sad. Although I suppose it makes sense. You made time stop for them, and now it has to start again.”

“I suppose I did,” said Thranduil. “But I cannot make it stop for ever, much as I sometimes wish I could.”

“So you can keep Da, and us,” said Tilda, and Thranduil blinked; he had not expected her to perceive what he had meant.

“Yes, pen-neth,” he said. “I wish I could keep you all here for ever, but you have your own lives and your own duties to see to.”

“I want to stay here for ever,” said Tilda. “But Da and Sigrid and Bain will have to go home and look after Dale and I’d miss them too much.”

“Do you not want to help them look after Dale?” Thranduil asked, untangling another strand of ivy from his crown and laying it beside the first piece as it began to wither. 

“I don’t know what I’d do,” said Tilda. “Da and Sigrid will run things, and Bain will defend it, but I don’t know what I want to do.”

“It strikes me,” said Thranduil, “that you have already proven to be very good at diplomacy. Talking to your allies,” he explained as Tilda frowned up at him and opened her mouth to ask what he meant. “As I understand it, you have made friends with King Dáin, and you have certainly made friends with me.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, “well, that was easy. I like making friends.” She giggled. “King Dáin is very rude. Da kept covering my ears, but I still learned lots of new words when we visited him.”

Thranduil laughed properly at that. “He is extremely rude, pen-neth,” he said, “and you probably ought not to repeat the words you learned from him, or at least, not until you are much older. Otherwise I think your father will think twice about his alliance with Dáin, and it is quite important that our three peoples stay closely allied.”

“I suppose so,” said Tilda, taking a sprig of holly berries out of the crown and placing them with the ivy, watching as they shrivelled up, “because there are bad people and we have to stick together against them.” She giggled. “I learned a tiny little bit of Dwarvish but I don’t know if it might have been rude. King Dáin might have been having a joke with me.”

“I would hope that he was not,” said Thranduil. “Perhaps you should ask Master Balin what the words mean. I think you can trust him not to joke with you.” Privately he was making a mental note to ask Balin himself, and resolving to have words with Dáin if it turned out the King under the Mountain had been having some fun at Tilda’s expense.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” said Tilda, easing the last of the holly out of the crown and setting it aside, then beginning to rummage through her basket of leaves and flowers. “We got you all sorts of things because we didn’t know what you’d like.”

“Everything that grows in the free air of my realm is worthy of my crown,” said Thranduil. “Only the things that have been touched by the evil of Dol Guldur are not welcome here.”

“Like the spiders,” Tilda whispered. “Tauriel told me about them, and she said they don’t dare to come this close. I don’t want to see them.”

“And you will not, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “I promise you. But you must promise me never to wander into the forest on your own. I would not want anything to happen to you, and not all of the forest is as safe as the places Tauriel showed you today.”

“I promise,” said Tilda. “I don’t want to meet the bad people, or the spiders.”

“You are safe as long as you stay within my halls, or are accompanied by me or my people,” said Thranduil. “Now, perhaps some of these celandines for my crown?” He picked out a few stems of the delicate yellow flowers and put them into Tilda’s hands so that she could distract herself from thoughts of spiders by weaving the flowers into the crown instead. 

They worked in silence for a while, Thranduil selecting flowers and leaves and handing them to Tilda for her to weave carefully into the spines of his crown. Thranduil was reminded very strongly of Legolas and Tauriel when they were Elflings, for they too had helped him decorate his crown for the new season; he wondered if Tauriel remembered.

“Thranduil,” said Tilda after a little while, taking great care to pronounce his name as he had taught her earlier, over breakfast, “in your language, ‘ada’ means ‘da’, doesn’t it?”

“It does, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, wondering what she was getting at. 

“Do you think - I mean, would you mind, if I called you ‘ada’?” Tilda asked, looking up at him with an expression of great seriousness in her eyes. Thranduil opened his mouth to reply, found that he had no idea what to say, and closed it again, but Tilda forged on, evidently not quite finished. “Because you like my Da, and my Da likes you, very much, and if you were a lady you’d be sort of like my new Mam, not my real Mam but like a second Mam, because my real Mam isn’t here any more. Only you’re not a lady. Even though you’re very pretty and you’ve got lovely hair.”

Thranduil found he could only look at her, entirely robbed of all his words; he managed a faint chuckle at her explanation, but no more. “Thank you, pen-neth,” he said after a moment, “I think.”

“Well, you are and you have,” said Tilda firmly. “But you’re not a lady so you’re not a second Mam, you’re like another Da, not my real Da, so I can’t call you Da, but I feel…funny, calling you by your name, and I thought, since you’ve got a word for ‘Da’ in your language, maybe I could call you that instead.” She grinned up at him. “Also it’s easier to say than your whole name.”

“Well, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, feeling suddenly filled with an emotion he could not quite name, “when you put it like that, then it makes a great deal of sense. I should be honoured, then, if you want to call me ‘ada’.”

“Oh, good!” said Tilda, and she carefully twisted in his lap to give him an awkward, one-armed hug while still holding the crown and the basket of leaves and flowers. “Besides, I thought that while your son is away it might be nice for you to have someone else to call you ‘ada’, to help you not miss him too much.”

Thranduil swallowed the bitter comments that wanted to make their way out of his mouth; they were unworthy of being spoken and Tilda did not deserve them. “That is very kind of you, pen-neth,” he said instead. “Although my son has not called me ‘ada’ in a very long time.”

“Really?” said Tilda, sounding somewhat incredulous. “What does he call you then? He doesn’t use your _name_ , does he?”

Thranduil chuckled at her surprise. “No, he does not. For a great many years my son has called me ‘adar’ which is the formal version of ‘ada’. It means ‘father’ in your language.”

“Oh,” said Tilda. “I suppose he is very grown-up. But I can’t imagine ever wanting to call my Da anything else than ‘Da’.”

“You are very close to your father,” said Thranduil, “and that is a wonderful thing to see. My son and I have not been so close for a long time.”

“That’s ever so sad,” said Tilda. “Oh, is it because of when your wife died? Tauriel said you were very sad then and you were all frozen cold because you were so sad.”

“Did she?” asked Thranduil, his eyebrows going up; he was beginning to wonder exactly how much of his private business Tauriel had been telling to Bard and his family.

Tilda forged on, oblivious to his sudden chilliness. “She did, and so did you this morning, you said you hid behind your ice walls. And she said we had to help you not be all frozen any more. And I like you a lot, so I want to help, and I hope it’s working.” She snuggled a little closer to him, resting her head against his chest, and Thranduil was silent a moment, reminding himself of what Bard had said - that if Thranduil had not wanted him and his family to befriend Tauriel, he should not have left her with them - and beginning to realise that Tauriel had only told them what she had told them because she, too, wanted to help him return from the frozen depths of his grief at last.

“I believe it is working, pen-neth,” he said eventually, “and I thank you for it.”

“Good,” said Tilda. “We’ll all do our absolute level best to help.”

Thranduil had to smile; he recognised her words from Bard’s use of them early that morning, and he thought it was probably the sort of phrase that was used on a regular basis in their household. Bard was a good man, and he was bringing his children up to be good people; for a moment Thranduil wondered what he had done to deserve them.

And then he heard voices and footsteps, and he looked up to see Bard approaching with Tauriel, Sigrid and Bain. Bard was looking up at him and Tilda with such love, such _adoration_ in his eyes, and Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat, what had he ever done to earn this chance of happiness, so long after he had thought all opportunity was lost to him? How had the Valar ever deemed him worthy of this kind, compassionate, beautiful man and his children with their seemingly endless capacity for love and acceptance, even for a cold, remote, closed-off old Elf such as him? He felt a sudden tightness in his throat, but at that moment Tilda saw her family and piped up to greet them. 

“Da! Everyone, come and see, we’ve made Ada’s crown all spring-like and beautiful!”

And Thranduil watched as Tauriel’s and Sigrid’s faces transformed in shock, as Bain frowned in doubt that he had heard correctly, as Bard frowned too, a worried expression creeping across his face. Thranduil almost laughed, for of course they did not know the agreement he had come to with Tilda; they would be afraid that he was offended. 

Instead, he smiled. “It is most beautiful, and it is all thanks to you, pen-neth.” He took the crown from between Tilda’s hands and held it up so that the others could see it, and then placed it upon his head. “It is spring, and my friends are here, and I believe it is time for us all to prepare ourselves for dinner.”

He stood, lifting Tilda into his arms, and carried her down the steps to join her family, setting her on the ground and drawing Bard to him for a brief, soft kiss. If the Valar had truly ordained this for him, he would do his best not to question it, but to grasp it with both hands and never let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> ada: father (informal; in this context, 'da' :) )  
> adar: father (formal)
> 
> Tauriel's conversation with Tilda, in which she attempts the impossible task of explaining Thranduil to a ten-year-old, takes place in [Complicated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065219).  
> 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	38. Every Inch The Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and the children get ready for the formal dinner, and Thranduil reassures Bard about one or two things.

Bard’s eyes fell shut as Thranduil kissed him, feeling relief flood through him that Tilda had apparently not taken a liberty at all for calling him whatever it was she had called him, and amazement at how swiftly and completely she had charmed Thranduil into loving her.

Thranduil swept them from the throne room, along the corridors to their chambers. 

“I have had clothing laid out for you,” he said, “and I will return to you in an hour, so that we may all enter the hall together. You as well, Tauriel; you may be banished but you are still my ambassador, hanariel-nín.”

Tauriel dipped her head in acknowledgement, but she was smiling. “Thank you, adarhanar. I will return in an hour, and meet you all here.”

Thranduil smiled. “Good. I will see you all in an hour.” And then he brushed another kiss across Bard’s mouth, ruffled Tilda’s hair, and swept off down the corridor towards his own chambers, leaving the five of them looking at each other in no small amount of bewilderment.

“What did you do, Tilda?” asked Sigrid in a hushed voice after a moment or two.

“Nothing,” said Tilda airily. “We just made his crown all nice for spring, and we talked a bit. And I asked if I could call him ‘ada’ because he doesn’t have anyone to call him that at the moment, and because if he likes you as much as you like him, Da, then if he was a lady he’d be going to be our new Mam, but because he isn’t and I can’t call him ‘da’ because I already call you that, I thought that seeing as he has another word for ‘da’ then I could use that instead. And he said yes. That’s all.” And she pushed open the door and swept into their chambers with her head held high, looking for all the world like a miniature Thranduil.

Bard looked at Tauriel, then at Sigrid and Bain, and had to laugh, because they all looked as thunderstruck as he felt. 

“Well, that’s cleared that up,” he said, feeling a little helpless. 

Tauriel laughed too. “I think if we were in any doubt that my King has changed, we can now be sure. You and the children have done what I could not do, what Legolas could not do.”

Bard shook his head. “I think we had some help, in the form of that battle. I don’t think we’d have stood a chance without that. Just as you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault, or the Prince’s. He needed something to turn his world upside down again to bring him out of it, just as it was his world turning upside down that put him in that state in the first place.”

“I know. But I am more glad than I can put into words that you were there, at the right moment, to catch him when he fell.” Tauriel smiled. “Now, I must go, but I will see you back here in an hour.” She clasped Bard’s arm for a moment, nodded to Sigrid and Bain, and then headed off along the corridor. 

“Come on, then,” said Bard, ushering his children into their chambers, “we must make ourselves look presentable enough to do Dale credit in front of the whole Woodland Realm.”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” said Sigrid with a nervous little laugh. “It’s funny, I didn’t think twice about coming here, or having dinner with the King, or _breakfast_ with the King, or spending the day in the King’s library, but dinner with everyone, in front of everyone, with all of them watching…” She shook her head, and Bard pulled her into a hug. 

“I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we’re going to have to get used to it, if this is going to be our lives now. If I’m going to be Lord of Dale, and if you’re going to be Lady of Dale one day, this is only the first dinner of many.” He shook his head too. “It’ll be hard, but once we’ve done it once, it’ll get easier.”

“I suppose so,” said Sigrid. “We’re not scruffy Lake-towners any more. We’re as good as royalty, as mad as that sounds. So we go out there with our heads held high and we pretend until it comes naturally.”

“That’s a good way of thinking of it,” said Bard. “Come on, then. Let’s get ourselves looking royal.” He smiled and squeezed her shoulder, and sent her off into her room; Bain had already vanished, and Bard could hear splashing sounds coming from the children’s bathroom. Satisfied that they were all well occupied with getting themselves ready, he took himself off to his own room for a bath.

Three baths in less than a night and a day - this was a luxury Bard had never even dreamed of, but he did not feel inclined to complain. He resisted the temptation to linger in the water - perhaps he could tempt Thranduil into another bath, later on, after dinner - and simply got himself clean and dried himself off. Then he went to investigate the clothes laid out for him upon his bed - who was doing this, he wondered - was it Galion?

This time the clothes were in shades of grey and dusky blue, all of them exquisitely embroidered in silver with patterns of leaves and vines, little flowers here and there. Similar as they were to the clothing he had been wearing, these were clearly of better quality - even better quality, Bard amended in his mind, and this time instead of a jacket there was a robe, of sorts; not as expansive as those Thranduil wore, Bard discovered as he held it up, no sleeves, but it fell almost to his ankles, and when he slipped it on over the rest of the clothes he found it was close-fitting, no fastenings, so it was clearly designed to be worn open. It did not trail behind him, there was nothing to catch on anything, and Bard was fairly certain he would not trip on it; he was painfully aware that he did not possess Thranduil’s preternatural grace.

He turned this way and that, finding that the robe fell pleasingly about him and did not swish too much; actually he rather liked it. He went over to the looking-glass table and gave himself a long, appraising look in the glass; his hair was a little unruly, which normally would not have worried him but now, with a formal, public dinner before him, was somewhat more urgent. He did not want to undo the braid Thranduil had given him, but at the same time he knew it needed tidying and possibly rebraiding. His fingers fluttered over it, but it felt - actually, it did not feel too bad. Well, he supposed he had not actually spent much time on his back to mess it up; and that thought brought a smile to his face. 

He dabbed a little of the hair oil onto his fingers and used it to help him smooth the stray strands of hair out of the way; there, that was better. Now he looked a little more like a lord - and then he noticed that there was a simple silver circlet on the table; nothing as ornate as anything Thranduil wore, but delicately engraved with vines and more than suitable for the occasion. Bard lifted it and very carefully set it upon his head, feeling more than ever like an impostor, as though he did not deserve to be wearing such a splendid thing, did not deserve the title he had been using; _who did he think he was_?

“You are every inch the Lord,” came a deep, familiar voice from behind him, and Bard glanced in the mirror to see Thranduil in the doorway, dressed in robes of deep green and dark cream velvet, embroidered in gold, his long, silver hair shining and his crown filled with the leaves and flowers Tilda had gathered. “I hope you do not mind that I came back a little early,” he continued. “I wanted to see you.”

Bard watched in the mirror, his heart turning over, as Thranduil crossed the room to stand behind him, resting his hands on Bard’s shoulders and bending to press a kiss into his hair, just above the top of the braid he had left there in the morning. He raised his hands to rest them over Thranduil’s, and closed his eyes, pausing to drink in this moment, to revel in it, trying to ground himself but mostly lost in bewilderment that this could really be happening to him.

“I am not sure what I did to deserve this,” murmured Thranduil, “to deserve you, and your family. I do not know why the Valar deemed me worthy of you, but I will not question it.”

Bard laughed, softly and a little unsteadily. “I’ve been wondering what on earth I think I’m doing here, who do I think I am, calling myself Lord of Dale, how do I even dare to look twice at you…” He trailed off, and Thranduil came to his knees beside him, reaching up to thread his fingers through Bard’s hair and draw him in for a kiss. 

“You are the rightful Lord of Dale, by birth and by deeds. You have every right to be here in your official capacity, and as for the personal capacity, I invited you into my halls because I love you, and I want you here. I wonder what you can find to love in me, for I am old and bitter and I have spent centuries being cruel to those I love and hostile to anyone who might think to ally themselves with me. But I believe that you love me, and I will not question that, either.” Thranduil sighed and rested his forehead against Bard’s. “We could spend the rest of time doubting our luck in finding each other when we did. But I think that would be a waste of our time, and we have far better things to do.”

Bard sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I need to remind myself to trust you, to trust _this_ , between us, and not listen to the voice in my head that keeps trying to tell me I should be out there on the river, collecting the barrels and taking them back to Lake-town, not in here, in this room, in these _clothes_ , pretending to be worthy of you. It’s just - my life has changed beyond all recognition in the space of half a year, the only constants are my children, and I don’t quite - it’s taking me a little while to catch up, I think.”

“Just believe that I love you,” murmured Thranduil, “remember that, and the rest will follow, the longer you live in this life.”

“I do believe it,” said Bard, “I believe _you_.” He gave another unsteady little laugh. “I was saying to Sigrid earlier, we’ll just have to pretend we know what we’re doing until it comes naturally.”

Thranduil smiled. “It served me well, in the beginning, when I had to take my father’s throne so unexpectedly. Soon I knew what I was doing.”

“That’s a comfort,” said Bard. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever know.”

Thranduil brushed another kiss across his mouth. “Sigrid will learn fast, even if it takes you a little longer. She will see you through, and you know that I am always at your disposal if you need any help.”

“I know,” said Bard, “and that’s a comfort too.” He sighed. “I suppose we’d better go and get this over with.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “Do not worry, it will not be such a formal affair as all that. We will sit together at the top table, with the children, and Tauriel and Feren, and then the rest of my people, including the guards who looked after Bain today, will be seated below. I will make a short speech to welcome you, you may answer if you wish, and then the wine will flow very liberally and everyone will forget all about us.”

“I’ll have to think of something to say,” said Bard, feeling a little worried all of a sudden at having to address the people of the Woodland Realm, no matter that he had done it before at the memorial for the people of Dale, and when the Elven army had left to return home.

“You do not have to, and if you wish to, you need only say a very few words,” said Thranduil. “Do not worry. In the meantime, I am going to kiss you again, and then we are going to see if your children are ready to go.” He suited the action to the word, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Bard’s lips, and Bard kissed him back, sliding his hands very carefully into Thranduil’s beautiful hair. But all too soon Thranduil was pulling away and easing to his feet, taking Bard’s hands and drawing him to stand. 

Bard pulled himself together, and they went to see what the children were up to. 

They were all dressed, each of them in clothing similar to that they had worn for dinner with Thranduil the night before, but even finer. Sigrid was brushing her hair out, and Bain had more or less tidied his own hair; Tilda’s hair was still in the elegant braid Thranduil had given her that morning, and she was fiddling with the ribbons in the sleeve of her dress.

“I’ve just got to finish my hair, Da,” said Sigrid, not looking up, “and then I’ll be done. We’ve all got little circlets, though, and - oh!” She glanced at the doorway, and realised Thranduil was there behind her father.

“If you do not mind, Lady Sigrid,” said Thranduil, “might I have the honour of braiding your hair, as I did with your sister earlier?”

“Oh! Hello Ada!” squeaked Tilda as she realised he was there, and Thranduil sent her a smile as Sigrid gaped for a moment, and then glanced at Bard, who shrugged and smiled, wanting to encourage her. She quickly recovered her composure, blushing hard but coming to stand in front of Thranduil and passing him the brush.

“I would be honoured,” she said, and she stood still and tall and straight as Thranduil began to braid her hair. 

“The braid I am giving you signifies that you will one day lead your people,” Thranduil said as he worked, weaving Sigrid’s hair into a coronet around the back of her head, “and also that I am very fond of you. Bain, I am sorry that your hair is not yet long enough for me to give you the apprentice warrior’s braids that you deserve, but the next time I visit Dale, I hope it will have grown enough.”

“Would you?” gasped Bain. “Oh, that would be…oh, _amazing_!”

Bard had to smile; clearly ‘amazing’ was the word of the day for Bain. He was sure that his son would be doing his best to make his hair grow over the next few months; although they had not spoken yet about a further visit to Dale for Thranduil, clearly he was intending it sooner rather than later, or at least, Bard hoped so.

Soon Thranduil had finished Sigrid’s hair and she darted to the looking-glass to see, turning her head this way and that and gasping happily before she darted back across the room to wrap her arms impulsively around him.

“It’s so wonderful! Thank you!” She sounded a little shaky, Bard thought, and he thought she was probably mostly nervous about dinner, but her eyes were shining and she was smiling.

“You are more than welcome, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil, returning her embrace for a moment. “Now, shall we see to those circlets? Then I think Tauriel will be ready for us.” He let Sigrid go, and she went to retrieve a circlet from the looking-glass table, simple like Bard’s; Tilda had another, smaller one, and Bain another. The children all brought their circlets to Thranduil, and with a smile he settled each one upon each head. “There,” he said, “now you are dressed as befits the royal family of Dale, which of course you are by birth as well as by the merit of your father’s deeds.”

Bard wondered if Thranduil was saying this for his benefit as much as that of the children; but it was understandable, really, if he was.

“Well, we look like royalty, at least,” said Sigrid, smoothing her hands down her dress; deep red for her, today, Tilda in sky-blue and Bain in dark blue, a jacket for him instead of the robe given to Bard. “Da, you look like a king.”

Bard smiled and resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, or deflect the compliment. “Thank you, sweetheart. Let’s hope I can pretend well enough that it’s convincing.”

“You will all do perfectly well,” said Thranduil, just as a soft knock sounded at the outer door and Tauriel stepped into the room; instead of her usual green tunic and leggings she was wearing a long, beautiful dress in shades of forest green; Bard felt a sudden pang of sadness that her Dwarf was not here to see her looking so lovely. 

“Ah, there you are, hanariel-nín,” said Thranduil. “I think we are all ready. Shall we go?” He tucked his arm into Bard’s, and led them towards the door. Sigrid took Tauriel’s arm, and Bain took Tilda’s - Bard was privately amazed at how well Bain seemed to be adjusting to acting the gentleman, given that he had never had to do so in his life before the previous day - and they made their way from their chambers along the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  Source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008:
> 
> hanariel-nín: my niece (literally: brother-daughter; this is my construction from the words available, to echo Tauriel's childhood name for Thranduil)  
> adarhanar: uncle (literally: father-brother; this is my construction from the words available)  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)


	39. I Hope That Our Alliance Will Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is time for the formal dinner to welcome the Lord of Dale and his family to the Woodland Realm. Bard has to make a speech, Sigrid has made a decision, Bain acquires a new ambition, and Tilda - well, Tilda is just adorable.

Thranduil led them in procession through a high, arched doorway and into a room as large as the throne room, with a vaulted ceiling. They emerged onto a dais with a long table upon it, set with enough places for all of them and Galion waiting for them with bowed head, and below the dais were several more long tables, already filled with the people of the Woodland Realm. Bard felt himself tense as every pair of eyes in the room fixed upon Thranduil and upon him, and everyone got to their feet and bowed their heads respectfully. 

There were two throne-like chairs at the centre of the table on the dais, one somewhat larger than the other, and then a row of smaller chairs; Thranduil conducted Bard very gravely to the central chairs, he himself taking the larger chair, of course, and Bard the smaller, at his right hand. Galion ushered Sigrid to Bard’s right, and Tauriel to Thranduil’s left, where Bard now saw Feren was already standing. Bain and Tilda were placed on Sigrid’s other side, and they all stood by their chairs as Thranduil spread his arms and addressed the hall, first in Elvish, and then translating to Westron for the benefit of his guests.

“We welcome the Lord of Dale and his family to our Realm,” he said, and Bard made himself stand straight and tall and still, and stare out over the heads of everyone in the hall. “We welcome our new alliance, and we hope it will continue for many centuries.”

Everyone applauded, and under cover of the noise, Thranduil murmured in Bard’s ear, “It is a form of words that we use among our people. I am not intentionally drawing attention to what we already know will become a sorrow to me.” He slid his hand around Bard’s back, resting it lightly between his shoulderblades for a moment. “If you wish to respond, as my ambassador Tauriel will translate for you.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Bard, pulling himself together as he had at the memorial in Dale, as he had on the day the Elves had left the city. He drew in a deep breath as the applause faded, and then spoke. “I thank you for your welcome, and for all the assistance your people have given ours. We are most grateful, and we hope that we may soon be able to help you, should you ever need us to. It is my hope, too, that our alliance will last.” He hoped that would do. 

Tauriel translated his words for the audience, who applauded politely, and when they fell silent Thranduil spoke once more, very briefly. 

“I told them that we would not delay dinner any further,” he said to Bard, and he took his seat. Bard followed suit, sighing in relief, and everyone else sat down as he did. 

Galion stepped forward and poured wine for Thranduil, and then for Bard, Tauriel and Feren; Thranduil spoke softly to him, and he poured Sigrid a small amount of wine and mixed it with water for her, and then he poured fruit nectar for Bain and Tilda. As Thranduil had predicted, the wine was already flowing freely on the lower tables, as the first course was brought to the top table and then began to be distributed to the rest of the hall, and nobody was paying Thranduil and his guests a blind bit of notice.

“There,” said Thranduil after a moment or two, “that was not so bad, was it?”

“I think I got away with it,” said Bard, and Sigrid elbowed him subtly in the ribs. 

“You were marvellous, Da. You said exactly what you needed to say.”

“Indeed you did,” said Thranduil. “You responded to my words, and you said neither too much nor too little.”

“Well, that’s a start,” said Bard, and he took a sip of his wine. 

As the evening progressed, and the rest of the hall grew even less interested in what was going on at the top table, Thranduil signalled to Galion and asked him, in Westron so that Bard and the children could understand, to rearrange the table so that Bain, Tilda and Tauriel could sit opposite himself, Bard and Sigrid rather than facing out into the hall. 

“We have completed the official part of this evening,” he said, “and I wish to be able to speak properly with all of my - family.” His hesitation upon the final word was almost imperceptible, but Bard heard it, and he quietly slipped his hand under the table onto Thranduil’s thigh, smiling warmly. 

“That is precisely what we are,” he murmured. 

“And I am glad for it,” said Thranduil under his breath as the chairs were moved and everyone sat down again; Feren moved to sit beside Thranduil, and then Tauriel sat opposite Sigrid, Tilda opposite Bard, and Bain opposite Thranduil. “There, that is better,” said Thranduil. “Now, Bain, perhaps you might like to tell us about your day with my Woodland Guard?”

Bain launched into an animated retelling of his ‘amazing’ day, and Bard smiled to see his son’s face lighting up as he described the fun he had had with the guards. Thranduil and Feren both prompted him with questions, and before too long they were talking about the potential defence of Dale, should the forces of evil rise again. Bain had clearly been thinking long and hard about the matter, and Bard was surprised to learn how strategic his ideas were; far more than he himself would have been able to come up with. He was a simple bargeman, a bowman who got a lucky shot in, who was doing his absolute level best to do what was best for his people - but his children were already progressing far beyond him. Dale would be in safe hands as soon as Sigrid felt ready to take over.

Sigrid was talking across the table with Tilda and Tauriel, trying to get to the bottom of what Tilda and Thranduil had talked about that afternoon, by the sounds of it, and Bard just listened contentedly to the conversations going on either side of him. His children were developing their individual relationships with Thranduil, and becoming used to their new roles, their new lives, and he was happy to let them get on with it; he did not need to intervene. 

“Da,” said Sigrid quietly after a while, as Tilda turned to chatter to Tauriel about the trees she had ‘met’ in the forest, “I’m going to ask Thranduil if he minds us all calling him ‘ada’. I think Tilda might be right, I think it might do him some good, while his son is away.”

“That’s a lovely idea, sweetheart,” said Bard, feeling a little overwhelmed at how readily his children had accepted his lover. “I think he’s missed having children around. Maybe it hasn’t occurred to him, but just watching him with Tilda, and with you and Bain, it’s clear to me that he’s a natural.”

“Tauriel told me he was wonderful to her when she was little, after she lost her parents. So was the Queen. They brought her up alongside Prince Legolas and treated her as their own daughter; they loved both of them so much. And then - and then it all went wrong.”

Bard nodded, feeling his heart clench in sorrow for Tauriel; she had already lost so much even before the battle, her own parents, her foster mother, and effectively her foster father as well. “If we can reunite those two properly, we’ll have done some good, I think.”

Sigrid nodded. “Tilda is determined to bring the Prince back home, too. I’m not sure how she thinks she’ll do it, but she’s decided.”

Bard chuckled. “She won’t rest until she’s done it, will she?”

“You know Tilda,” said Sigrid, with a grin. “Stubborn as mules.”

“Stubborn as every last mule in Middle-Earth,” laughed Bard. “But we wouldn’t have her any other way, would we?”

“Maybe when it comes to bedtime,” said Sigrid, taking a very small sip of her watered wine. “It sounds like Bain got on well today.”

“It does indeed,” said Bard. “I think you’ve got your Captain of the Guard there.”

They turned their attention to the conversation Bain was having with Feren and Thranduil; they seemed to have moved on to the subject of sparring.

“Once you have had a little more practice,” Feren said, “I would be pleased to show you how to spar properly.”

“Oh, would you?” said Bain enthusiastically. “That would be amazing, I saw you fighting in Dale and I couldn’t believe how _fast_ you were.”

Feren inclined his head. “I thank you. But my skills pale into insignificance beside those of my King.”

“I would be happy to spar with you, Bain,” said Thranduil with a little smile. “But I think you should have sufficient practice with one blade before you move on to two.”

Bain’s jaw dropped. “You fight with two swords?”

“I do,” said Thranduil. “I have had many thousands of years in which to learn, and I have seen combat many times.”

“Two swords,” said Bain wonderingly, and Bard had the distinct feeling that his son had just gained a new ambition.

“Steady on, lad,” he said. “You definitely need to be good with one before you can learn to handle two.”

“Oh, but Da -“ Bain protested.

“You could begin with the knives,” suggested Feren. “Once you have learned to handle a sword, and a single knife, you might then learn to use two knives. It will take a great deal of training, though. You cannot expect to become an expert in the course of this visit to our home.”

Bain’s face fell a little. “I suppose not,” he said somewhat disconsolately.

“You will need to practise when you return home,” said Feren. “I will give you some exercises before you leave, and Tauriel will help you practise them, for she is quite the expert with the twin knives. Then, the next time you visit us you will be able to progress further.”

“Thank you,” said Bain, although he still looked a little disappointed.

“Would you perhaps have any suitable weapons that we might be able to borrow, for Bain and his friends in Dale?” Bard ventured to ask.

“I should think we can take a look in the armoury,” said Thranduil. “And if there is nothing suitable, I will have something made for you.”

Bain’s jaw dropped again. “Oh,” he said, apparently momentarily speechless, then, “would you? Really?”

Thranduil smiled. “I would. Really. It is in my interests to see that my ally is well-defended, and I would argue that that includes the training and equipment of their army, if they have no trained soldiers or equipment already. You may find that King Dáin will be willing to help you with your training and equipment too, once he hears of my offer.” His smile widened a little. “Besides, I am sure he would say that his armourers and smiths are far superior to mine.”

Bain snorted with laughter. “He probably would. He doesn’t like to think of anyone being in a better position than him. Especially not you. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” said Thranduil with a chuckle. “I am well aware of Dáin Ironfoot’s attitude towards me. And it will give me great pleasure to encourage him to offer you training and weapons, by my own example.”

“Well, I don’t mind,” said Bain, “if it means I get to learn how to fight like an Elf _and_ a Dwarf. It ought to give us the edge if anything ever happens again. The Orcs won’t expect it.”

“Indeed they will not,” said Thranduil, and they were away again, discussing battle tactics and fighting techniques. Bard turned his attention to Tilda, who seemed to have run to a stop in the conversation she was having with Tauriel and Sigrid; her eyelids were beginning to droop.

“Are you tired, kitten?” he asked her, leaning across the table, and she shook her head, but then she yawned; next moment she was sliding down in her seat and disappearing out of sight under the table. Bard frowned, and was just about to investigate when he felt her bumping up against his legs, and he moved back a little from the table. Tilda’s face appeared under the tablecloth, and then she climbed up into his lap. 

“I’m sleepy, Da,” she confided with another yawn, as he settled his arms about her, and she snuggled into his embrace, settling her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. Before too many more moments had passed, she had fallen asleep.

“I suppose it is a bit late,” said Sigrid. “And she’s had a very exciting day, from the sound of it.”

Tauriel chuckled. “She was very happy to run around in the forest and ‘meet the trees’,” she said. “We walked quite a long way, and we climbed a few trees and picked a great deal of flowers and leaves. I taught her how to speak the blessing upon the forest that I say in these situations. And we came back along the river and watched the fish jumping. So yes, I suppose she has had quite a busy day.” She laughed. “And that was before she spent the afternoon helping my King decorate his crown, and wrapping him around her little finger.”

“It might be nearly time to call it a night,” said Bard, “you’ve all had busy days.”

“Just a while longer, Da?” said Sigrid a little pleadingly. “We’ve never had a dinner like this before.”

“A little while longer, then,” said Bard with a smile. “As long as Miss Sleepyhead here stays asleep and doesn’t fall off my lap or anything.”

“You’ll hold her safe,” said Sigrid. “You always do, with all of us.” She put her head on Bard’s shoulder for a moment, and he rested his cheek on her hair.

“I do my best, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve always tried to do my best.”

“I know,” said Sigrid. “And you’ve been the best, always.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” said Bard, with a smile. “I like to think I have the best children too, just for the record.”

“You’re such a softie, Da,” said Sigrid, but she was smiling, and she reached over to smooth a few strands of hair out of Tilda’s face as she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you. I mostly reblog other people's Tolkien-related art, writing and fandom-meta stuff and ramble in the tags (sometimes about this series and my other headcanons), I love to do ask memes and tag games, and I post update alerts for my stories there too. Reblogs and asks always very welcome! <33333


	40. The Nicest of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dinner, Bard puts the children to bed, and then he and Thranduil settle down for a glass of wine and a chat.

Eventually, Thranduil glanced between the sleeping Tilda and the increasingly-yawning Bain, and decided it was time to declare dinner over, for the top table at least; his people would likely continue drinking and celebrating for some time.

“Allow me to escort you back to your chambers,” he said to Bard, and Bard smiled warmly. 

“I’d like that,” he said. “Perhaps you might like to stay for a nightcap, once I’ve put the children to bed.”

“And I would like that,” said Thranduil calmly, although his eyes were sparkling. 

“I can put Tilda to bed,” said Sigrid quietly. “Bain will go on his own, and I’ll probably sit up and read for a little while. But I can look after them, if you want to - you know - go somewhere else.”

Bard chuckled. “Thank you, sweetheart. But I actually quite enjoy seeing you lot into your beds, believe it or not. I’m used to it, and I miss it when I don’t get to do it.” 

Thranduil smiled to himself; it seemed as though Bard was determined to draw him right into the fold of his family, and he found he loved the thought of it. Being there while Bard settled his children to sleep - he had not witnessed such a thing for over a thousand years, after all. 

“All right,” said Sigrid, glancing between Thranduil and her father. “But I’ll be there, reading, if they need me.”

Thranduil chuckled. “Do not worry, melinettë-nín. I promise we will behave ourselves.” 

Bard nearly choked, and Sigrid laughed. “So I should hope,” she said, mock-stern. “And no staying up all night, either.”

“Give over, love,” said Bard, but he was smiling affectionately at her; Thranduil was reminded of the conversation they had had in Dale, when Bard had talked about sneaking around to be with his sweetheart, and gaining his daughter’s approval rather than that of his parents.

“Shall we go?” he said, rising to his feet; Feren and Tauriel rose too, and Bain and Sigrid slid out of their chairs and stood up. “Feren, Tauriel, you are free to go and join your comrades if you wish,” he said; Feren saluted and left the dais, and Tauriel hesitated for a moment, before smiling at Bard, Bain and Sigrid, ducking her head, and following Feren.

Bard braced himself and then stood, lifting Tilda in his arms; she was evidently on the verge of being too heavy to carry any more. “Will you let me take her?” Thranduil asked, and Bard looked as though he was debating with himself for a moment or two. 

“If you don’t mind,” he said eventually, and Thranduil smiled. 

“It would be my very great honour,” he said, and he gently took Tilda from Bard’s arms and settled her in his own. She shifted a little and murmured, but did not wake, and Thranduil bore her from the hall with absolute dignity, trailed by Bard and his family. 

When they reached the family’s chambers, Bard shooed Bain to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, while Thranduil carried Tilda into the girls’ bedroom, closely trailed by Sigrid and Bard. 

“She has the left-hand bed,” said Sigrid, darting ahead to pull the bedclothes back, and Thranduil set the little girl carefully down on the mattress. 

“I’ll get her into a nightgown and get her tucked in, and then I’ll be right out,” said Bard, and Thranduil nodded, smoothing his hand over Tilda’s forehead and murmuring a blessing for sweet dreams. Then he took himself out to the sitting room; settling himself on the sofa and glancing around, he saw that there was already a bottle of wine and two goblets sitting upon the table, and he had to smile. Galion must have heard Bard’s mention of a nightcap, and taken immediate action. Thranduil opened the wine and filled the two goblets, and took one up for himself, waiting for Bard to come and take the other one.

In a few minutes, Bard emerged from the children’s rooms, an affectionate smile upon his face. “They’re all settled,” he said. “Bain and Tilda are asleep already, or at least, Bain will be within the next couple of minutes, and Sigrid is sitting up reading.” He chuckled. “So we really will have to behave ourselves, because her hearing might not be Elven, but her ears are still sharp.”

Thranduil smiled. “It will be nice simply to sit and talk for a while over a glass of wine, I think. We have had quite a day, after all.”

Bard laughed softly, coming to sit on the sofa next to him and picking up his goblet. “You’ve certainly had quite a day. I hope Tilda wasn’t too much?”

“Tilda is delightful,” Thranduil said with an affectionate smile, “and quite the credit to you. She is thoughtful and caring, and I am honoured that she wishes to call me ‘ada’.”

Bard let out a relieved-sounding sigh. “Thank goodness for that. I was worried she’d offended you.”

“Not at all,” said Thranduil, laughing softly. “I am truly honoured. And if Bain or Sigrid finds that they wish to use that name for me, I would be equally honoured.”

Bard smiled. “Sigrid mentioned that she was thinking of asking you if you’d mind if they did,” he said. “I know she’d like to, and Bain might, too. He’s at that awkward age where he’s not quite grown, but he’s not sure about childish things any more. He calls me ‘da’ because that’s all he’s ever called me, but I don’t know how he’d feel about having a new name for you.”

“I do not mind if he does not wish to use it,” said Thranduil. “I would not want to push him into something he did not want. But if he does, it will make me very happy, as it does that Sigrid wishes to use it for me.”

“They’re adopting you for certain,” said Bard, “and that makes me happy. I know we’re no substitute for your actual family, but I hope we can be there for you until your son comes home again.”

“You are not a substitute,” Thranduil said, low and serious. “You _are_ my family. You, and your children, and Tauriel, if I can learn to let her close to me again. And if my son returns, he will have a proper family to join, one that I could not give him before.”

“I would like that. And we’ll help you with Tauriel,” said Bard. “I think it’d do both of you good if you could let her back in.”

“I will try,” said Thranduil. “I miss her.”

“She’s here now,” said Bard. “Perhaps you could talk to her, if you felt like it, before we leave.”

“I will try,” said Thranduil again, and Bard moved a little closer to him, resting his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“I’ll help you every step of the way, if you need me to,” he said, and Thranduil turned his head to smile at him and lean in to kiss him softly.

“I know you will, and I thank you,” he said, and they lapsed into silence for a while, leaning back against the sofa cushions, Bard with his head on Thranduil’s shoulder, occasionally sipping at the wine in his goblet. 

“You always have the nicest wine,” he mused, and Thranduil chuckled softly.

“I always try to have the nicest of everything,” he said. “My standards are very high.”

“Which is why I’m still wondering, sometimes, what you’re doing with a scruffy, penniless widower with three children,” said Bard, but his tone was light, almost teasing, not the tense insecurity of earlier in the evening.

“Well, that scruffy, penniless widower does happen to be the rightful heir to the Lordship of Dale, he is very handsome and noble beyond measure, and his children are charming,” said Thranduil in the same light, teasing tone, and Bard laughed, turning his head to press a kiss to the underside of Thranduil’s jaw, very gently because he was seated on Thranduil’s left side; his continued care not to hurt Thranduil’s scars, even though he could not see them, made Thranduil’s heart turn over every single time.

“Well, I’m glad you think that,” he said softly, and Thranduil brought his hand up to smooth over Bard’s hair.

“I very definitely do,” he said. “I care not for your background, nor for your circumstances; I care for you.” He paused for a moment, wondering whether to ask the question that was on his mind, that he had been wondering about for some time, but then forged on. “Will you tell me about Maudie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you. I mostly reblog other people's Tolkien-related art, writing and fandom-meta stuff and ramble in the tags (sometimes about this series and my other headcanons), I love to do ask memes and tag games, and I post update alerts for my stories there too. Reblogs and asks always very welcome! <33333


	41. I Still Forget She's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil talk about their late wives, and establish that both of them still have a place in their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am often frustrated when canon spouses are shuffled out of the way without a trace and never mentioned again, especially when they're canonically no longer around; it makes sense to me that neither Bard nor Thranduil has really recovered from losing their respective wives (well, look at the state of Thranduil, he definitely hasn't), and they are still a large part of both their lives. So I wanted to give them their due in this story, as the effects of their deaths send ripples through the lives of those who loved them, even long afterwards.
> 
> A small warning: this chapter includes a brief account of the death of Bard's wife Maudie in childbirth (in paragraph 5). Please proceed with caution if that's something you're likely to find upsetting. <33333

Bard had to take a deep breath, and then another, before he could answer Thranduil’s question about Maudie. “She was -“ he paused, not entirely sure where to start. “She was tiny, didn’t come up to much higher than here.” He tapped the middle of his chest. “Like a doll, I always thought. Hair like Sigrid’s, and Tilda’s, but not as dark. Golden, in curls all down her back. Green eyes, or blue, I could never quite make up my mind. Maybe they were both” He took another deep breath, bracing himself; so far he had kept the pain of her memory at bay by simply stating facts about her appearance, but he could not describe her adequately like that. “She was sparky, brave, you definitely did what she told you to do. I used to call her my little spitfire.” His voice shook a little as he spoke the nickname he had had for her, and he paused for a moment. “She was always smiling. Always making a joke out of things, making light of the serious stuff to smooth it over, make it easier to bear. I still almost forget she’s gone, sometimes.”

“Ten years is not so very long,” said Thranduil softly, his fingers drawing gentle circles on Bard’s arm; Bard leaned into the touch, drawing comfort from it. 

“Longer for us than it is for you,” he said. “But I can’t forget her. I’ve missed her every day. Even now. I keep catching myself wishing I could tell her about you, although if she were still here I’d never even have met you, let alone everything else. And sometimes one of the children will say something and it’ll remind me of her so sharply that I have to stop for a moment.” He sighed. “Even Tilda, and she never even knew her.”

“If Tilda is anything at all like her mother, then Maudie must have been a delight,” said Thranduil with an affectionate smile, and Bard’s heart caught in his throat for the hundredth time at how much love Thranduil seemed to have for his children. “All of your children have inherited your openness and your compassion, but perhaps I have misattributed their charm - perhaps they take it from their mother, charming as you yourself are.”

Bard shook his head, deflecting the compliment; he never quite felt worthy of any of them. “Maudie was a charmer,” he said instead. “Had everyone round her little finger, she did, most especially me. She was always so sunny…even when she was expecting, though she can’t have been comfortable she was always just so full of joy at the thought of the baby. Even with Tilda - especially with her.” He had to pause for a moment, swallowing hard against the memories. “She was just _blooming_ , with Tilda,” he said eventually, very quietly. “We had no idea of what was coming. She was just so bright, so _radiant_ , and then suddenly - suddenly once Tilda was out, she…she didn’t stop bleeding, nothing the midwife could do would stop it, and then she was just…just _gone_ , like a candle snuffed out all of a sudden. Left me in the darkness.” He set his goblet on the table and rested his head in his hands for a moment, fingers scrubbing through his hair, still blindsided by the memory even after all these years; he felt Thranduil’s gentle touch trailing up his arm, along his shoulder to the back of his neck, under his hair, chaste, soothing, comforting, and he anchored himself to it. “The midwife put Tilda in my arms, and I was so afraid that I would resent her, but I looked at her and I knew it wasn’t her fault, and I _loved_ her. She was the one bright spot in all of it, and I thought, maybe that’s where Maudie’s spark has gone.” His voice cracked, and he slid his hands from his hair to his face, covering it as he struggled to retain his composure.

Thranduil smoothed the flat of his hand down Bard’s back and then up again, slowly but firmly, and Bard leaned into the touch again, taking one deep breath and then another.

“You know what it’s like, I think,” he said eventually, when he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking. “Even though now I have you - you’re so different to her, and I can’t forget how I felt for her. How I still feel.” He held his breath, hoping that Thranduil did indeed understand that he could not simply set aside his love for Maudie, even though she was gone.

“I know,” said Thranduil after a long, quiet moment, his hand still smoothing up and down Bard’s back. “You and Auriel are very different, and although I love you very deeply, although you have brought me back from the depths of my despair, I cannot say to you that I no longer love her. But you are no substitute for her, as I hope I am no substitute for Maudie to you.”

“You’re not a substitute,” said Bard, his voice low and urgent. “If she were here, and if I could be selfish, and greedy, I’d have both of you. I’d want you both. But she’s not here, and I’ll never see her again.”

“And if Auriel were here, and I could have both of you, I would,” said Thranduil, and after a moment he chuckled very softly. “And perhaps they would take a liking to each other, she and Maudie. But they are not here, and we are.”

“We are,” said Bard, and he leaned his head on Thranduil’s shoulder again. Thranduil slid his hand back up Bard’s back and around so that his arm rested across Bard’s shoulders, his hand smoothing up and down Bard’s upper arm. 

“And I am glad,” said Thranduil, turning his head a little to press a kiss into Bard’s hair. “I think that Auriel and Maudie would be glad, too, that we have found each other in their absence.”

“What was Auriel like?” Bard asked after a moment. “You don’t have to answer that, only if you feel like it.”

Thranduil breathed in very slowly and then let his breath out in a long sigh. “She was like the sunrise for which she was named. She was perhaps as tall as you, and her hair was red-gold, down to her waist. She was strong-willed and stubborn, and she let me get away with very little.” He let out the ghost of a laugh, almost closer to a sigh. “If she thought I was being ridiculous, she would tell me so. And she always saw the bright side of things. She helped me to do so, too.”

Bard curled closer into Thranduil’s embrace, slipping his arm around Thranduil’s waist. “It sounds as though both of us married strong women,” he murmured, and Thranduil uttered that ghostly laugh again.

“I think we did,” he said. “Auriel was a fighter just as much as I think your Maudie was. She fought to her last moment, before the gates of Gundabad, but I - I could not reach her, and I could not retrieve her.” His voice wavered very briefly. “It is why I would not involve my people in the Dwarves’ first battle for Erebor, and I think it is why I wanted to do what I could for the bodies of my people, and yours, in Dale after the battle last autumn.”

“To give them the decent burial you couldn’t give her,” murmured Bard. “Beloved, I am so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” said Thranduil. “But the pain is no less.”

“No,” said Bard. “I understand. I don’t think that sort of pain ever really goes away, no matter how long it’s been.” He sighed. “But we have each other, and we have the children, and Tauriel, and all the other people around us, to distract us and look after us.” He sat up to retrieve his goblet from the table, and then settled back into the space he had occupied before, between Thranduil’s arm and his torso, his head resting on Thranduil’s shoulder again. 

“Perhaps I should propose a toast,” said Thranduil, “to our respective strong women, and the family you have given me, and the others who may look out for us.”

“I’ll drink to that,” said Bard, touching his goblet to Thranduil’s. “To family, and to Auriel and Maudie, wherever they are.”

“Family, and Auriel, and Maudie,” Thranduil echoed. “I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me.”

Bard shook his head, smiling. “Well, I can’t thank _you_ enough for all you’ve done for _me_ , so perhaps we’re even.” He stifled a yawn, and took a sip of his wine, hoping that Thranduil had not noticed how tired he was all of a sudden.

Of course, Thranduil’s powers of perception were Elven, not human, and of course he noticed. “I think you need to sleep,” he said softly, “just as Tilda needed to sleep earlier.”

“I’m fine,” said Bard, hiding another yawn behind another sip of wine, and Thranduil laughed.

“You are as stubborn as she is. Perhaps that is where she gets it from. I think that you are tired, and you need to sleep, and you should let me put you into the bed that is just through that door, and then you should sleep.”

Bard sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But - will you stay?” He was not sure if Thranduil meant to see him into bed and then return to his own chambers, and he did not quite think that he could stand to spend a night alone here, with Thranduil so close.

“Of course I will,” said Thranduil. “I was fully intending to join you in the bed and hold you as you fall asleep. While we are together, I do not wish to be parted from you for any longer than necessary.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Bard, feeling a little idiotic. “All right, then. Let me finish my wine.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I am happy to help you, if you need me to.” He set his goblet on the table, already empty, and Bard laughed, handing his own goblet over. 

“Feel free,” he said. “I think I’ve had enough, for how tired I am.”

Thranduil finished Bard’s wine in one long swallow, and rose to his feet, extending a hand; Bard took it and stood, allowing Thranduil to lead him into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. The children were settled, they were close by, and all was well. 

He undressed as quickly as he could manage, though he was beginning to feel thoroughly exhausted, folding the clothes and leaving them on the chair in the corner, though he put his leggings and undershirt on the foot of the bed, just in case any of the children needed him in the night. He noticed that Thranduil did the same, and it warmed his heart as he climbed beneath the covers and leaned over to pull the bed-curtains closed. Sighing softly, contentedly, he lay down among the pillows and closed his eyes as Thranduil closed the bed-curtains on the other side and then slid into the bed behind him, drawing Bard into his sure, warm embrace. 

“Now sleep, meleth-nín,” Thranduil murmured, and Bard sighed again, curling into Thranduil’s arms and settling down, already feeling sleep stealing over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you. I mostly reblog other people's Tolkien-related art, writing and fandom-meta stuff and ramble in the tags (sometimes about this series and my other headcanons), I love to do ask memes and tag games, and I post update alerts for my stories there too. Reblogs and asks always very welcome! <33333
> 
> For more of Maudie and Auriel, see [Empty-Handed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191477), an epilogue set long after the end of this story, and the sequel [Break You But You'll Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419968), in which I play extremely fast and loose with canon to give absolutely everyone the happy ending they deserve. :D Neither of them really spoil this story, as I wrote Empty-Handed before I'd written half of this and Break You simply follows on from the end of that one, but if you don't want to know what happens to Thranduil after the end of the War of the Ring, and/or you want to read the story in order, you might like to leave it till later. However, the way this story is going, I have no idea when it's going to be finished or how long it's going to be... *facepalm at self*
> 
> Also, for a bit of Auriel's backstory, I can highly recommend [this glorious drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890615/chapters/65724106) about her, written by my invaluable beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/pseuds/lemurious) for Finwëan Ladies Week - I am absolutely adopting and running with it! (it certainly explains at least some of her strength of character XD ). :D :D :D


	42. I Will Watch Over You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda cannot sleep, so her Ada tells her a story or two.

Thranduil drifted into dreams for a while, lulled by Bard’s deep, even breathing, but he was not so far gone that he did not catch the sound of small footsteps in the sitting room, and by the time there was a soft tap on the bedroom door and the door began to ease open, he was fully awake and easing his arms from around Bard without waking him, pulling on his leggings and undershirt. 

“Da?” came a frightened little voice, and Thranduil’s heart clenched; he slid between the bed-curtains and saw Tilda standing in her nightgown in the middle of the floor, looking sleepy and rather forlorn.

“Your father is asleep, pen-neth,” he murmured softly, “but I am here. Did you dream badly?”

“I don’t know,” said Tilda, her lower lip wobbling just the tiniest bit, “but I woke up and it was dark and I couldn’t go back to sleep and then I was scared.”

“Would you like to sit with me for a little while?” Thranduil offered, and Tilda considered for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. Shall we go and sit in the sitting room?”

Tilda nodded again, and reached out her hand to him; he took it, and led her out to the sitting room, settling on the sofa and letting her climb up next to him. He poured himself a splash of wine, no more than a couple of mouthfuls, and settled back against the cushions, and after a moment Tilda crawled up into his lap.

“What’s it taste like?” Tilda asked, looking at his goblet.

“Would you like to try it?” said Thranduil, amused. “Although I do not think you will like it.” He held the goblet out to her, and she sniffed at the contents.

“It smells funny,” she said, and Thranduil chuckled softly.

“I think you will think it tastes funny, too,” he said. “I did, when I was your age. It took me a little while to learn to like it, when I was grown up.”

Tilda took a very small sip, and screwed up her face. “It does taste funny! It’s all bitter.” She nudged the goblet back towards Thranduil, still pulling a face. “I don’t know how you can like it.”

Thranduil laughed. “I think perhaps it is something that comes to you as you get older, pen-neth. And I am sure your father would be glad that you do not like it.”

Tilda giggled. “I don’t like ale either. Sometimes that was the only thing there was to drink in Lake-town, because sometimes the water was bad.” She pulled another face. “I like your fruit nectar best.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Thranduil. “I will make sure to send some back to Dale for you.”

“Thank you,” said Tilda around a yawn. “I’d like that.”

“Do you think you might be able to go back to sleep now?” Thranduil smoothed a stray strand of hair out of Tilda’s eyes. 

“Maybe,” said Tilda. “Can I have a story? Da always tells me a story when I can’t sleep, or Sigrid does, if Da’s not there.”

“Of course you may, pen-neth,” said Thranduil. “Let me think of one.”

“Can you tell me about when Tauriel was little? Or your son?” Tilda looked up at him with pleading eyes and he laughed softly; here she was, sneaking inside his defences again.

“Of course,” he said. “Do you know, they are very close in age, and so they were very close friends when they were small, because they were the only Elflings here. They got into all sorts of adventures, so I am sure I can remember one or two to tell you about.”

“Oh good,” said Tilda, snuggling closer. “Once Bain and I went climbing on the balconies in Lake-town and I nearly fell in the lake! Oh, but you mustn’t tell Da, otherwise he’ll worry. He worries so much about us already.”

Thranduil felt his heart catch at Tilda’s innocent concern for her father. Bard did worry, about everyone, it seemed; it was more than past time for Thranduil to see about taking some of those worries from his shoulders.

“Ah, but children do like to climb,” he said, distracting himself from his thoughts. “I remember that more than once Legolas and Tauriel climbed far too far up into the trees because they were trying to see who could go the highest. And once they went climbing up the arches in my throne room, so high that they could not get down, and Feren and Galion had to go up and get them down again.” He laughed softly at the memory, one he had not thought of in a thousand years. 

“I’d be scared to climb up there,” said Tilda sleepily, around a yawn. 

“I think they were both thoroughly frightened when they realised they could not get down,” said Thranduil. “Although it did not put them off climbing elsewhere in my halls, or in the forest.”

“They’re very brave,” said Tilda, yawning again. “And Tauriel has been climbing in Dale, to help us with the rebuilding. She’s been checking the buildings to see what needs doing to them.”

“It sounds as though she is enjoying living with you,” said Thranduil quietly, and Tilda nodded.

“I think so. I mean, I hope so. She was very sad, at first, because of Kíli and - and everything that happened, but she smiles more now.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Thranduil, although he had not missed the undercurrent of what Tilda had not quite said, that he, too, had been a cause of Tauriel’s sadness. “I am very fond of her, and I am sorry that she has been unhappy.”

“You were mean to her,” said Tilda rather sternly, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by another yawn. “Because you were sad too, but you’re not mean any more, and we’re all going to help you not be sad.”

Thranduil just looked at her for a moment; he did not recall the last time someone had dared to speak to him in such a manner, but he could not bring himself to rebuke her. For one thing, she was only a child, and one for whom he was beginning to feel a great deal of affection, and for another, she was right.

“I would like that, pen-neth,” he said eventually. “I have not been the person I should have been, for a very long time. So if you are willing to help me become that person again, I would be very grateful.”

“Of course we’ll help,” said Tilda. “Because you’re nice, and we want you to be happy.”

“I thought I had forgotten how to be happy,” Thranduil found himself admitting - somehow it was less of an admission, to tell her, than it would have been with anyone else - “but I am finding that you and your family are reminding me.”

“Good,” said Tilda. “Will you tell me another story?”

She made it sound so simple, Thranduil thought; and perhaps in actual fact it was. He began to tell her another tale of one of Tauriel and Legolas’ childhood adventures, when they had gone chasing off into the forest to find one of the creatures in their fairy stories, but he soon realised that she had fallen asleep, her head pillowed against his arm.

A movement in the bedroom doorway caught his eye, and he looked up to see Bard standing there in undershirt and leggings, looking half-asleep, but with an affectionate smile upon his lips.

“Did she have a nightmare?” he asked quietly.

“I am not sure,” said Thranduil. “She said she woke up, and then she could not go back to sleep, and I think she was frightened by her unfamiliar surroundings. So I brought her out here so that we could talk, and so that she would hopefully fall asleep again. Did we wake you?”

“I don’t think so,” said Bard. “I just woke up, and you weren’t there, and then I heard your voice.” He smiled again, and the depth of love in his eyes almost made Thranduil’s breath catch. “Thank you for looking after her.”

“It was a pleasure. Should I put her back into her bed, now that she has fallen asleep?”

Bard considered for a moment. “Usually I’d let her come in with me for the rest of the night, just to make sure she slept through. She’s getting a bit old for it, but she’s had a tough few months.”

Thranduil smoothed some hair out of Tilda’s eyes, and she shifted in her sleep, snuggling closer into his arms. “Shall we bring her in with us, then?”

“If you don’t mind, it might be better.” Bard looked a little unsure, and Thranduil smiled.

“Of course I do not mind,” he said, lifting Tilda in his arms as he stood. “It has been a very long time since I have had occasion to soothe a child who cannot sleep, and I would - I would like to continue helping her, as she has been helping me.” He carried Tilda towards the bedroom, and Bard met him halfway, placing one hand between Thranduil’s shoulderblades and leaning in over Tilda to kiss him. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything, but most especially for looking after Tilda. She’s - she’s the last thing I have of Maudie.”

“I know,” said Thranduil softly. “And you can do nothing else but cherish her, for she is a delight. I feel as though she has lightened my heart already.” 

“I’m glad,” whispered Bard, and Thranduil carried Tilda into the bedroom, laying her carefully in the middle of the mattress as Bard slid back into bed and eased her into his arms, pulling the covers up around them. Thranduil stretched out on Tilda’s other side, settling himself under the covers and resting one arm over the two of them. He would protect them both - with his life, if need be, and Bain and Sigrid too. But for now, he was content simply to watch over Bard and Tilda as they slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you. I mostly reblog other people's Tolkien-related art, writing and fandom-meta stuff and ramble in the tags (sometimes about this series and my other headcanons), I love to do ask memes and tag games, and I post update alerts for my stories there too. Reblogs and asks always very welcome! <33333


	43. We Want Him To Be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda learns an important lesson about dealing with people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to think I should start warning for chapters with a high level of Tilda's weapons-grade cuteness, so please consider yourselves warned for this one. :D
> 
> I am thrilled and delighted that my invaluable beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious/pseuds/lemurious) has written [this glorious drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890615/chapters/65724106) for Finwëan Ladies Week about Auriel, Thranduil's wife in this story, thus giving her a backstory which I am absolutely adopting and running with (it certainly explains at least some of her strength of character XD ). :D :D :D

Bard awoke to a kiss brushed across his forehead; opening his eyes he saw Thranduil smiling down at him, leaning on one elbow. Tilda was curled between them, one arm flung over Thranduil’s waist, and Bard chuckled softly; she had certainly staked her claim to her new ‘ada’. 

“It is morning, meleth-nín,” Thranduil murmured, very softly so as not to waken Tilda. “I will go back to my chambers to dress for breakfast, and then I will return. Do not feel you must hurry the children; I would far rather wait, and let them - and you - awaken in their own time.”

“I’m awake now,” said Bard, yawning, and Thranduil laughed quietly. 

“Only because I woke you to tell you where I was going, so that you did not wake to find me gone. Go back to sleep if you wish; I will be a little while.”

“All right,” said Bard, yawning again, and Thranduil kissed his brow again and smoothed a hand over Tilda’s hair, and then slid out of the bed; they had left the curtains open when they had come back to bed so that Tilda would be able to see the lamplight if she woke, and Bard watched as Thranduil slipped his robe back on and left the room, completely silently. Bard wondered absently how he did it, but his eyes were already falling closed again, and he was drifting back off to sleep.

The next time his eyes opened, it was because Tilda was stirring, wriggling and rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“Good morning, kitten,” he murmured, “did you sleep all right?”

“Morning, Da,” she said. “I think I did. Only why am I here with you?”

“You woke up in the night,” Bard said with a smile. “Your Ada sat with you for a little while, and then he brought you to stay with us, in case you woke up again.” His smile broadened a little at the sound of Tilda’s new name for Thranduil in his own voice, and Tilda smiled too, rubbing her eyes again.

“Oh…oh, I remember now. He told me stories about Tauriel and Legolas when they were little. But I don’t remember coming to bed with you.”

“That’s because you were asleep again by then,” Bard pointed out. “You fell asleep on him while he was telling you a story.” Following in her da’s footsteps, he thought, but he did not say it.

“Oh,” said Tilda again. “Where’s Ada now?”

“He went back to his rooms to get dressed for breakfast, but I don’t know how long ago that was. We should probably get dressed too. Are you hungry?”

“Starving!” said Tilda, stretching out like a starfish across the mattress where Thranduil had been lying. 

“Better get up, then,” said Bard. “I don’t think anyone will be bringing you breakfast in bed.”

“I bet if I asked Ada -“ Tilda began, and Bard shook his head.

“No, kitten. That’s called taking liberties, and we don’t do that.” Tilda looked confused, so Bard explained. “I think you know that your Ada likes you very much, and he would probably do all sorts of things for you if you asked him to, but that’s exactly why you mustn’t ask about things you know full well you shouldn’t. You’d be taking advantage of how much he likes you to get something you shouldn’t have, and that’s not nice.”

“But why shouldn’t I have breakfast in bed?” Tilda asked, and Bard sighed. 

“Because everyone else has to get up for breakfast, and there’s no reason why you can’t. You’re not ill, are you?”

“No-o,” Tilda said slowly, shaking her head.

“So there’s no reason to stay in bed and put someone out - probably Galion - to bring breakfast here especially for you, when he’s got enough to do getting breakfast for the rest of us. Even if your Ada would probably say yes if you asked him. Do you see what I mean?”

Tilda nodded. “Because it would be lazy,” she said after a moment. “And not fair on Galion. Or Ada.”

“Got it in one, kitten,” said Bard with a smile, reaching out to ruffle her hair; all three of his children had been brought up never to be lazy, and he was more glad of it now than he had been when hard work had been a part of their everyday life. Now, the temptation to sit around all day could have been almost overwhelming, if they had not all been used to being busy all their lives. “You’ll also find that people will often want to give you things now, not because they want you to have them, but because they want something from you. So you’ll have to get used to asking yourself why you want things, or want to do things, a bit more often. Firstly, so you don’t take advantage of people, and secondly, so people don’t take advantage of you. I’m not saying your Ada or Galion want anything from you, but other people might.”

“Like you were worried that Ada might think you got him the necklace because you wanted something from him, when really you just wanted him to have it?” asked Tilda, and Bard nodded. 

“Just like that. I didn’t want him to think I was the sort of person who does things for people because they want something in return.”

“Like Alfrid,” Tilda giggled, pulling a face.

“Exactly like Alfrid,” said Bard, also pulling a face; he had not mourned when Alfrid’s body had been found half-in and half-out of the mouth of a troll, though goodness only knew how he had got there. Good riddance, he thought, though he felt bad about it; but he had had more than enough of Alfrid’s self-serving ways in Lake-town, and the way Alfrid had transferred his allegiance so swiftly from the Master to Bard, whose life he had delighted in making a misery for years, had made Bard’s skin crawl. 

“I don’t think Ada would ever think you were like Alfrid,” said Tilda. “But…I suppose Ada would have to be careful with us, too, not to take advantage. Because I think he knows now that we’d do anything for him, because we want him to be happy.”

Bard’s eyebrows went up in surprise, it seemed as though Tilda had not only understood the lesson but had taken it well and truly on board; that Thranduil would be careful not to take advantage of them, had not yet occurred to him. 

“I suppose he will, kitten,” he said after a moment’s thought. “We’ll all have to be careful, because this is new to all of us, in different ways. We’ll get used to it eventually, but we’ll have to practise first.”

“Like Bain with his sword,” said Tilda. “And all of us with our Elvish.”

“Just like that,” said Bard. “Now, come on, no more lying in bed. Time for breakfast.”

As he nudged Tilda to get up, and swung his feet off the mattress to the ground, Bard became aware of low voices in the sitting room beyond the door. He padded to the doorway and peered around the door to see Thranduil and Sigrid, who was already dressed, sitting on the sofa, deep in conversation; listening for a moment, he realised that they were discussing the role Dale might play in the wider politics of Middle-Earth, and as he watched, Bain emerged from his room, dressed and looking remarkably presentable, and joined in the discussion.

Tilda came to join him. “I think we could let them run Dale now, Da,” she whispered. “They already have all the ideas, and they want to do it. Then you and me could go and do something fun instead.”

Bard chuckled softly; it was no secret, at least within the family, that he did not particularly want the job he had ended up with. “Shall we do that today, kitten? We could leave them to the grown-up stuff, and go and do something more interesting. Do you think Tauriel would show us a bit more of the forest?”

Tilda slid her hand into his, and squeezed his fingers excitedly. “I bet she would, Da. It’s so wonderful, all the trees and the flowers, and the spiders don’t dare come near, Tauriel said, they’re afraid of Ada and his magic so they stay away.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” said Bard; he wasn’t sure what to make of the magic part, but he was certainly glad the spiders did not seem to want to venture too close to Thranduil’s halls.

“We’d better get ready, Da,” said Tilda after a moment, “everyone else is ready for breakfast except us.”

“So they are,” said Bard with a rueful smile; he had not meant to fall asleep when Thranduil had left, nor had he intended to sleep so long. “Go on with you, you get yourself dressed and I’ll sort myself out.” He patted her gently on the back, nudging her out of the door, and watched as she trotted to her room, bidding Thranduil, Sigrid and Bain good morning as she went. Then he retreated to investigate the contents of the wardrobe in the corner of his room.

There were sets of clothes piled up, more than Bard could count at a brief glance, jackets hanging in a row in all manner of colours, all of them dark or dusky or similarly dignified. He stood and stared for a moment, temporarily robbed of breath at the scale of Thranduil’s generosity. And the conversation he had just had with Tilda came back to him, an unwelcome voice in the back of his mind wondering whether Thranduil might, in fact, be expecting something of him. He pushed it away, reasoning with himself that if Thranduil had been doing this because he wanted something, Bard had more than paid him back already by retrieving the necklace from Erebor. And besides, if that had been the case, events between them would certainly not have unfolded as they did, after Bard had handed over the gems. No, he had to do as Thranduil had said, and trust that Thranduil loved him, as he loved Thranduil. Such suspicious thoughts had no place between them; they were not worthy of being given even a moment’s attention.

He selected an outfit, shades of green today, and dressed hurriedly, checking his reflection in the mirror. His hair looked distinctly untidy, and he tried to smooth it down, but without much success. He did not want to take out the braid Thranduil had given him the day before, especially given its significance, but it definitely needed redoing by now. Well, there was no sense in pretending it didn’t; he would just have to ask Thranduil if he would mind rebraiding it for him.

Stepping into the sitting room, he had to smile; Sigrid and Thranduil were still deep in conversation on the sofa, Bain was hanging over the back of the sofa behind Sigrid, and Tilda had clambered into Thranduil’s lap again. Thranduil was rebraiding her hair where it had become ruffled and untidy, and Bard grinned; that gave him his opportunity.

“You’ll have to watch out, or we’ll have you braiding all our hair all the time,” he said, taking a seat in one of the armchairs. “I’m going to have to ask you to redo mine, or show me how you do it, it’s a bit of a mess now I’ve slept on it.”

“It will be my pleasure,” said Thranduil, chuckling softly as he broke off his conversation with Sigrid and Bain. “I have nearly finished Tilda’s, so I will do yours next. And I am sure I can teach you one or two of our techniques, if you wish to wear our braids when you return home.”

“I’d like that,” said Sigrid. “And then it’d save you having to do it all the time, because I’m sure you’ve got more important things to be doing.” She flashed Thranduil a grin, and he smiled right back at her.

“I think there is nothing more important to me, just at the moment, than spending time with the family I have so unexpectedly gained. I have all the time in the world for other things, but only limited time with you here, and I will make the most of it.”

Bard felt his heart catch at Thranduil’s matter-of-fact statement, and tried not to think of him continuing alone once they were all gone. There would be time enough to consider that later, and they would need to consider it, but not now. Not now.

For now, Bard thought, he was content to watch as Thranduil finished braiding Tilda’s hair and then set her on the sofa so that he could cross the room and stand behind Bard, unclipping the hair clasps that held his braid and unravelling the strands, sifting Bard’s hair between his fingers. Bard tilted his head forward a little, closing his eyes for a moment, conscious that this moment of great intimacy was taking place in front of all three of his children. Well, it would probably be good that they should see something as innocent as this, to help them accustom themselves to the new way of things. They had been so used for so long to having him all to themselves, and much as they had taken to Thranduil, it would take some getting used to, their da having someone else to think of besides them.

But he would have to be careful to make time for each of them, while they were here, and not spend all his time sending them off into the care of Thranduil’s people. Today he would spend with Tilda, then perhaps tomorrow he would accompany Bain to the arena, and then the day after perhaps he would spend with Sigrid in the library, for it was about time he learned a bit more of all the things he would need to know.

All too soon Thranduil had finished plaiting and was snapping the second hair clasp into place at the bottom of the braid. He rested his hands on Bard’s shoulders for a moment, his thumbs stroking very briefly over Bard’s neck above the collar of his jacket.

“Now,” said Thranduil, “we are all ready for breakfast, I think, for I have rebraided Sigrid’s hair already, and Bain’s, regrettably, has not yet grown enough since yesterday for me to give him the apprentice warrior’s braids he deserves.” There was a laugh in his voice, and Bard looked up at him with a smile.

“Breakfast it is, then,” he said, getting to his feet, “and we can all work out what we’d like to do today.”

“Indeed we shall,” said Thranduil, taking Bard’s arm. “It is my intention that you shall all be able to do whatever you enjoy while you are here, and also have the opportunity to rest that you have not had in a very long time. So we shall plan a day that you will all enjoy.” And he led them from the room towards the breakfast table upon the balcony, so that they might once again eat before the view out over the forest, away to the lake and the Lonely Mountain in the far distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	44. An Interesting Exercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Sigrid spend the day in the library, talking about history and politics - and Sigrid's Da.

Over breakfast it was decided that Bard and Tauriel would take Tilda for a walk in the part of the forest that was within Thranduil’s realm and his protection, Bain would again spend the day training with the Woodland Guard, and Thranduil would accompany Sigrid to the library so that they could continue their conversation with the aid of some of the books there. 

“I’ve still got so much to learn,” she said to him as they made their way towards the library, twisting a button on her sleeve between her fingers. “The textbook you sent is wonderful, but it’s only an introduction. Which I needed, of course, because I’m starting from nothing, but there’s so much more beyond that.”

“And you have time to learn it all,” said Thranduil, holding the library door open for her. “You are still a little young to be taking over from your father just yet, and you can fill those years with learning.”

“I’d need to spend all my time in here,” said Sigrid, turning from one side to another, looking about her with an awestruck expression that brought an indulgent smile to Thranduil’s face. “For the next fifty years. There are so many books, and I need to learn Sindarin before I can read them all, and…”

“And the only way to do that is to begin at the beginning,” said Thranduil, guiding her with a gentle hand at her back over to the table with the reference books, still open from her time with Feren the previous day. “First, perhaps you might show me how far you have got with Tauriel, and with Feren?”

Sigrid reached for the grammar book and a simple history of the Sindar people, written for Elflings. “Here,” she said. “Feren was explaining to me about Doriath, and I got a bit stuck on the past tenses. But it sounded like such a fascinating place. Rather like here. Only it was terribly sad, what happened in the end.”

“It was,” said Thranduil gravely. “I was young when we escaped, my parents and my wife and I, but the memories are still there, very faintly, at the back of my mind.”

Sigrid drew in a sharp breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “You were _there_?”

“I was there,” said Thranduil. “I was born a few years before the death of Elu Thingol, and I knew him a little, although I do not remember his face, only the sound of his voice, and the strength of his arms as he picked me up and carried me through the gardens. I remember Dior, the son of Lúthien and Beren, a little better; he was a few years older than I was and for a short while we were friends, as children.”

Sigrid’s eyes were wide, and suddenly brimming with tears; Thranduil frowned, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“What is the matter, melinettë-nín?” he asked, and Sigrid swallowed hard and blinked before she answered him.

“It’s just…it’s just _so_ long ago. I mean, I knew in here that you’re very old,” she tapped the side of her head, “so it stands to reason that you would have known so many of the people and the places in the history books. But in here,” she tapped her heart, “I don’t think it’s quite made it through yet. And just to think of all the people you must have known who aren’t here any more -“ She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut, and Thranduil ventured to slide an arm around her shoulders; she curled against him, resting her head on his chest for a moment. 

“It is something that one learns to bear,” he said softly. “Some of us are better at it than others.”

“But you must have lost so many people,” Sigrid whispered. “And your people aren’t meant to die, so that must make it so much worse. I don’t know how you’re even still standing.” Her voice shook, and Thranduil tightened his arm around her shoulders.

“I think we have already established how I have survived the losses of those I have loved,” he said. “And the price I have paid for it was to lose those of my loved ones who are still here. I must learn another way.”

“We’ll help you,” said Sigrid, shifting to look up at him, blinking away her tears to fix him with wide, serious eyes. “All of us. I know we can’t stay with you for ever, but we’ll do our best with the time we have.”

“I know, and I appreciate it more than I can adequately express,” said Thranduil. “But today, we have other things to think of, do we not?” He gestured to the books, and Sigrid gave him a slightly watery smile.

“I suppose we do. I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking of - of everything you must have been through.”

“You have inherited your father’s compassion, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil with a smile. “But I think perhaps both of you worry too much about me. Think about it this way: you are helping me just by spending time with me. You are teaching me how to come back to the world, and perhaps I might teach you a little of what you need to know about how to make your way in it as a leader of its newest nation.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, evidently thinking. “I suppose so. But I don’t think I could _not_ worry about you. I like you, and it just - it hurts to think of you being sad.”

“I know.” Thranduil squeezed her shoulders gently and then let her go. “But I do not want you to fill your time worrying about me. As I have said, you have much to learn, which is far more important than I am.”

“I suppose so,” said Sigrid, reaching for the grammar primer and the history book. “And if helping me with this will make you happy, I suppose we ought to get on with it.” She smiled at him again, much more steadily this time. “This is where I got to with Feren yesterday. We didn’t quite finish untangling the tenses.”

Thranduil leaned over to look at the passage she was pointing to, and began to explain the grammar she was struggling with. They worked their way through several more pages in the history book, Sigrid flicking through the grammar primer to look up tenses and verb formations, and Thranduil adding his own observations to those of the book’s author, for many of the events described he had witnessed himself.

Eventually they fell into a discussion of the new alliance between Erebor, Dale and the Woodland Realm. Sigrid was full of ideas for ways in which the three nations could work together, although Thranduil was privately somewhat sceptical that Dáin would agree to some of them, and not entirely convinced he himself wished to participate in others. He had been so used to his position of isolation, his borders closed against the outside world; the realisation during the battle that the forces of the Enemy were stronger than he had thought had hit him hard, and when he had suggested a close alliance at the memorial in Dale he had meant it, but he had had plenty of time over the winter to have second thoughts about it all. He was bound up with Dale by virtue of his relationship with Bard, but he was not at all sure that he could forget the centuries of animosity between himself and the Dwarves. 

“I suppose once we’ve worked things out between us, we’ll have to think about all the other nations,” said Sigrid thoughtfully. “Gondor, and Rohan, and - do you think Lothlórien and Rivendell would be interested? I mean, if the Orcs are as strong as we think they might be?”

Thranduil bit back his instinctive reluctance to engage with his Elven peers. And - perhaps it was time to come clean about the news he had received over the winter. He had been trying not to think about it for a multitude of reasons, but perhaps what he needed to do was to put the matter in Sigrid’s hands and see what she thought about it. It would, he supposed, be an interesting exercise for her, if nothing else.

“As it happens,” he said slowly, “I received a letter over the winter from Lord Elrond in Rivendell. It appears that while you were occupied in losing your home and journeying to Dale, and I was occupied with thoughts of regaining my gems, he and Mithrandir - Gandalf, the wizard who was in Dale during the battle - and the Lady Galadriel and Saruman, another great wizard, encountered the Enemy himself in the fortress of Dol Guldur, away to the south of here.” He could not entirely keep himself from flinching, the memories of the battle in which his father had died still strong even after almost three thousand years.

Sigrid’s eyes widened. “But - I thought the book said he was killed in that huge battle, thousands of years ago?”

Thranduil sighed. “That is what we thought had happened. But it appears that he has somehow returned, and has been biding his time, building his strength. Building his armies.” He let out a soft laugh, entirely devoid of humour. “It does rather explain why the Greenwood has become quite so corrupted, if it is not just any evil but _the_ great Evil.”

“But - but what happened?” Sigrid wanted to know, and Thranduil gave himself a mental shake, for the poor girl looked terrified. “Is he still there?”

“No, melinettë-nín, he is not. According to Elrond, the Lady Galadriel defeated him and sent him fleeing away into the East. He is much weakened, and he does not have his Ring of power, but he certainly has followers, and although we defeated them last autumn, it does not mean that they are gone.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, the terror melting from her face, replaced with a pensive expression. “So…we should talk to them, too, Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel?”

Thranduil bit back his instinctive response, that they had showed no interest in his realm for centuries, and had not bothered to let him know of their suspicions about Dol Guldur, which was as close to his realm as it was to Lothlórien. But he knew, deep down, that they had shown no interest in him because he had closed himself away after Auriel had died and had shown no interest in anyone outside his borders - anyone other than himself - ever since. 

“Galadriel spent much of her strength at Dol Guldur, according to Elrond, and she is recuperating in her home. But Elrond -“ He paused, and then forced himself to make an admission. “I think I would welcome Elrond’s wisdom on the subject.”

“You don’t look thrilled about it,” said Sigrid with a mischievous little smile, and Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“Elrond is desperately dull and terribly pompous, always certain that he is right. But I am bound to admit that he is wise beyond measure, for all that he is younger than I am.”

Sigrid giggled. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”

“It is not a matter of whether or not I like him, but of whether or not he can help us,” Thranduil said, a little frostily. “Much as it pains me to ask him for help.”

“Well, I don’t think we’d have to phrase it like that,” said Sigrid. “You could just write to him and say that you have considered his news and you think that we should all talk about what we should do next. And then - invite him to visit, I suppose.” She pulled a face. “It would have to be in Dale, because I don’t think Dáin would come here and I don’t think you’d want him here just yet, would you?” She gave him a rather amused look, and Thranduil could not help laughing.

“No, I do not think this would be a good venue. Nor would Erebor. Dale would at least be somewhat more neutral. Although I do not think you have had enough time to rebuild yet.”

“Oh, that’s true.” Sigrid’s face fell. “Da would have kittens if I suggested inviting people just yet. Although if we had something to aim for, and focus on, that might work. We’ve managed to get most people into houses already, after all. So if we spent the spring and summer working on the great hall and the big house at the top of the hill, we might have it at least a bit ready by the autumn.”

“I do not think you would need to have everything completed,” said Thranduil. “Elrond knows what happened to Dale, and he knows of the battle. Dull and pompous he may be, but he will understand.” He smiled. “You have divined a solution in two minutes to a problem I have been mulling over for months, melinettë-nín. You truly are a born politician.”

Sigrid grinned, ducking her head modestly. “Maybe if you’d talked to your advisers about it you might have been able to see your way through it sooner,” she said, a little tentatively.

“I do not have advisers,” said Thranduil. “I have not for centuries. I rule alone.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, her eyes going wide again. “ _Oh_.” She put a hand on his arm. “Of course you do. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I haven’t _seen_ any advisers, the only people you have around are Galion and Feren. I suppose I just assumed that’s what Kings have, and we’d meet them eventually.”

“Not me,” said Thranduil, and Sigrid nodded.

“No. Well, you’re not just any King, are you?” She grinned at him and patted his arm. “Of course you do things your own way.”

“Precisely,” said Thranduil, and he could not help returning her grin, chuckling a little, somehow not completely averse to sending himself up a little bit, not with her. She seemed to understand him without him needing to explain himself, and along with that understanding came compassion and a refreshing lack of judgement - and respect. He was well aware that many people neither understood him nor respected his choices, that many spoke of him with barely-concealed contempt, but Sigrid knew and understood his reasons, and respected him regardless - and not because she was little more than a child and he was a powerful Elven lord, but because she liked him and thought him worthy of her respect. She was treating him like an ordinary person, just as her father did, and it was so refreshing.

Sigrid giggled. “So it looks like we’ll be having some fairly serious talks in Dale in the autumn, then. I suppose there ought to be some sort of event to mark the anniversary of the battle, so perhaps we could do it then. But I think you should visit us in the summer, and maybe we can get going on negotiating with Dáin then.” She flashed him a mischievous smile. “I don’t think it would be fair to make you and Da wait half a year till you can see each other again.”

Thranduil laughed. “Was it really that bad?”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Da was _miserable_ , from the moment you rode away. He was so busy with the rebuilding and everything, but I could tell he was thinking about you all the time, and making himself sad. Every time a letter came, he’d go off to read it and come back smiling, but it wouldn’t last long because he missed you so much.” She smiled. “You’ve been the one bright spot in all of this, for him, you know.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows, gratified but surprised. “Have I? I rather thought that was you and your siblings.”

Sigrid shook her head. “We’ve always been there, and he’s always put us first, always. But his life has been _so hard_ , I don’t think you could ever really understand how hard it’s been. And then everything that happened - well, it happened, and suddenly we didn’t even have a home any more, and all these people to look after, all of them looking to Da to help them. And then there you were, riding in on your elk like an angel, bringing supplies and your army, and you saved us, honestly you did, but most of all you gave Da something he didn’t even know he needed. Something he hadn’t had for _so_ long, not since Mam died.” She broke off, swallowing hard, and Thranduil saw that her eyes had filled suddenly with tears. 

“I have been thinking so much of what he has done for me,” said Thranduil softly, “it had not really occurred to me that I have been doing something similar for him.”

“You really have,” said Sigrid, dashing the tears away with the back of her hand. “And in turn, for the three of us, too. Tilda doesn’t even know what it’s like to see Da happy, and I don’t think Bain really remembers. But I do.” She swallowed hard again. “He and Mam were so happy. So happy. And then it was all taken away. He loves us, he really does, and I know we make him happy, but not like that. He’s always had this - this sadness about him, ever since Mam died. And you’ve taken that away. For all the material things you’ve done for us, that you’ve taken Da’s sadness away and put happiness in its place, that’s greater by far than all the rest.” She hauled in a deep, shaky breath, and looked up at Thranduil with brimming eyes. “And if you don’t mind, I should really like to call you ‘Ada’, as Tilda does.”

Thranduil smiled. “Oh, Sigrid. Melinettë-nín, I would be delighted and honoured.” He held his arms out to her, and she all but launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. 

“I’m so glad,” she said, her voice somewhat muffled for her face being pressed into his shoulder. “You watch, we’re never going to let you go.”

“I could not be more pleased,” said Thranduil, as she loosed her arms from around him and sat down again. “I have gained so much, though I did not look for it. Not only your father; suddenly I find I have gained three delightful children, and apprentices in politics, swordsmanship and diplomacy. None of which I expected when I rode out to Dale in search of my wife’s necklace.” He smiled thoughtfully. “And you brought me that, as well. Although I think that you, and your father and your siblings, have been the greater gift.”

“You don’t know us very well yet,” said Sigrid, with a mischievous grin, and Thranduil laughed. 

“I am sure I will find you just as delightful when I have got to know you all properly,” he said. “At least, I like what I have seen so far, and I do not think you will change my mind now.”

“Give us time,” said Sigrid, but she flashed him another grin, and he knew she was joking. 

They turned their attention back to the history book and the grammar primer after that, and by the time Galion brought them some lunch, Thranduil thought that Sigrid had made significant progress both with her Sindarin and with her understanding of the history of his people. If she applied herself to the history of the Dwarves as assiduously, he thought, she might yet be the one to unite the three peoples for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	45. Meeting The Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda, Tauriel and Bard go for a walk in the forest, and Tilda and Tauriel climb a tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a Tilda Warning: cuteness ahead!

“Come on, Da!” Tilda tugged on Bard’s hand as Tauriel let them out of the door that led to the outside world. “Come and meet the trees, and the river!”

“Slow down, kitten,” laughed Bard, following her as best he could. “Your old Da isn’t as fast as he used to be.”

Tauriel snorted with laughter. “Nonsense,” she said. “You’re not as old as all that, and I saw you fighting in Dale, not to mention clambering all over the place helping with the rebuilding. You’re fit as the proverbial fiddle.”

“Not getting any younger, though,” Bard protested as Tilda slowed her steps the slightest bit. “So what about these trees, then?”

“Oh, there’s the oaks, all tall and strong, the birches and the ashes,” Tilda counted on her fingers as they went along the path and into the forest, pointing this way and that. “Tauriel says they all have their own spirits. She says some of them used to move.”

“It’s true,” said Tauriel. “The Ents, they were called, great trees who could walk, and talk, but nothing has been heard of them in a very long time. I don’t suppose we will see them again.”

“What happened to them?” Bard asked, but Tauriel shook her head.

“Nobody knows. We just stopped encountering them. I don’t know if they left, or if they were destroyed in the last great war, or what happened to them. I myself have never seen one, although I believe my King knew them, long ago.”

“Well, that makes sense,” said Tilda, grabbing for Tauriel’s hand as well as Bard’s. “I should think nobody knows the trees better than he does.”

“You are right, pen-neth,” said Tauriel with a delighted smile. “My King is a part of the forest, and the forest is a part of him. They belong to each other.”

“He must be very sad about the spiders, then,” said Tilda. 

“I think he is,” said Tauriel. “The whole forest was his, once, before the sorcerer came to Dol Guldur. Then it was known as Eryn Galen, which means the Greenwood, in your tongue.”

“This part still seems very green,” said Tilda, looking around.

“This part is still under the protection of my King,” said Tauriel. “The rest of the forest is a dark, diseased place, full of spiders, with dark enchantments laid upon it that drive anyone mad who dares to stray from the path our people laid.”

“I don’t want to go there,” said Tilda in a tiny voice, and Tauriel smiled down at her.

“Do not worry, pen-neth. I would not dream of taking you beyond the limits of my King’s protection. Here you are safe, and no spiders will trouble you.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Bard. “Not enormously fond of them myself, not at the size I’ve heard they’re supposed to be.”

“The Woodland Guard patrols beyond the borders,” Tauriel said, “and we try to keep the spiders under control, but we have not succeeded in wiping them out, only driving them back.” She smiled faintly. “We rescued the Dwarves from a pack of them, when they were journeying through the forest. In fact, that is how I met Kíli. He was cornered by one of the creatures, and I leapt in and killed it for him.” A soft laugh escaped her at the memory. “Then another came, behind me, and another behind him, and he thought I did not know the second one was there. He begged me to throw him a dagger, so that he might kill it, but he vastly underestimated my powers of observation, and I already knew exactly where it was. I stabbed it, behind me, without needing to look, of course.” She laughed again, and when Bard glanced at her, he saw that she wore a genuine smile, her eyes shining at the memory.

“Well, I hope he was suitably impressed,” he said, chuckling himself.

“I might dare to think that he was,” said Tauriel. “He had never before seen Elven fighting skills in such a manner, after all. Although he did tell me that Lord Elrond and some of his warriors saved their company from a pack of warg-riding Orcs near Imladris; but they were mounted, and we had only our feet to carry us. Of course, one cannot leap through the trees in pursuit of spiders on horseback.”

Tilda giggled. “That would be funny to see. I don’t think the horses would like it, though.”

“I think the horses definitely would not like it, kitten,” said Bard, laughing. “I should think the Guards are much more sure on their feet in the trees.”

“We are certainly more suited to climbing than horses are,” said Tauriel. 

“Can we climb a tree, Tauriel?” asked Tilda, tugging excitedly on both Bard’s and Tauriel’s hands. “Can we, Da?”

“I should think I’ll stay on the ground,” said Bard, “but if Tauriel can find a tree for you to climb that doesn’t go too high, and if you promise to be careful, then yes, you may climb a tree, kitten.”

Tilda cheered, and let go of Bard’s and Tauriel’s hands to clap her own in glee, running ahead of them a little way and suggesting this tree and that. Tauriel said no to every one, and in the end took matters into her own hands.

“Let me show you the tree I learned to climb in, pen-neth,” she said.

“Not the one you and the Prince climbed too high in?” said Tilda, bounding on her toes in glee, and Bard raised his eyebrows.

“Not that one,” said Tauriel firmly. “I assume my King told you that tale?”

“Last night, when I couldn’t sleep,” Tilda said. “Ada told me stories about you and the Prince when you were little, till I fell asleep again.”

Bard glanced at Tauriel, whose eyebrows were up almost to her hairline. “It’s true,” he said. “I woke up eventually and caught them at it.”

“Well, I only hope he did not tell you all the tales of our escapades, pen-neth,” Tauriel said after a moment. “I would not want you to be too inspired, for we did some very silly things when we were young.”

“Oh, tell me, tell me!” implored Tilda, catching at Tauriel’s hands, and Bard groaned.

“Please, don’t give her any ideas,” he said. “She has enough silly ideas of her own.”

“Oh, Da, I don’t!” said Tilda. “Honestly, I wouldn’t do anything silly, I wouldn’t!”

“This coming from the girl who went climbing on the balconies in Lake-town with her brother and nearly fell in the lake?” Bard enquired, with one eyebrow raised, and Tilda clapped her hands to her face, eyes and mouth wide with shock.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that, Da!” she gasped.

“Nothing gets past me, kitten,” he said. “You know how it was in Lake-town, impossible to do anything without at least three people seeing you. I heard about it before an hour had passed. The only reason you didn’t get a scolding was that I had it from Percy, who had it from Hilda, who had it from Agnes, who had it from John’s eldest boy, when I was on the way out with the barge to collect the barrels from the river. After that I had rather a lot to do, what with the Dwarves and the dragon and everything, and it rather slipped my mind until now.” He pulled a stern face, and Tilda put on her best puppy-eyed expression.

“Oh, but Da, I _didn’t_ fall in the lake! And we did much more dangerous things after that! I threw a plate at an Orc!”

Bard kept his stern expression for a handful of seconds longer, and then shook his head, chuckling. “All right, kitten. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful if you’re going to climb a tree - or do anything else reckless.” He ruffled her hair. “And you were very brave with the Orcs.”

“She was indeed,” said Tauriel. “She and her sister and brother faced them very bravely, although they did not have weapons to defend themselves with.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” said Bard. “I’d never have let you get into such a situation, if the Master’s men hadn’t -“

“You wouldn’t have had much choice, Da,” said Tilda. “They came in through the ceiling!”

“She is right,” said Tauriel. “The Orcs attacked without warning, looking for the Dwarves. But Legolas and I had been tracking them, and we were upon them in no time. Nobody was hurt.”

“Except the Orcs,” piped up Tilda. “They got pretty well hurt.”

“That they did,” said Bard, “and I’m glad for it. Not to mention eternally grateful to Tauriel and the Prince for protecting you three.”

“It was our pleasure,” said Tauriel with a smile, inclining her head very slightly. “Although we did not then know the children, it was our duty to protect them from the Orcs. And our honour.” She placed a hand on Tilda’s shoulder. “And now that I have come to know them, I am very glad that we were there.”

“Me too,” said Tilda. “Can we climb the tree now?”

“Of course, pen-neth. It is just this way.” Tauriel led them a little way off the path, to a fine-looking oak tree with a great many branches, and a good few close enough to the ground that Tilda would be able to get up onto them. 

“Be careful, now, kitten,” Bard warned again, and Tilda nodded, bouncing on her toes again. 

“Of course, Da,” she said, already making for the tree, Tauriel behind her. 

“See here, pen-neth,” said Tauriel, showing Tilda footholds and handholds, and soon Tilda was scrambling into the tree, Tauriel swinging herself easily up alongside her. 

Bard settled himself at the foot of the tree and leaned back against the trunk, looking up through the branches at what little he could see of Tilda and Tauriel, and listening to the rustling sounds as Tilda climbed higher in the tree. 

“Not too high, mind,” he called up to them, and Tauriel called back down.

“Do not worry, there is a branch half-way to the top - we are almost to it - where the Prince and I used to sit, and there we will stop.”

“All right,” Bard replied, and he settled himself to wait for them to come down again, picking up a fallen twig from the ground next to him and idly peeling the bark off it, letting his mind wander a little. It was so peaceful here, so different from Dale where there was always something going on, always something for him to do, a decision or him to make or a problem for him to solve. Here, it seemed, there was nothing for him to do but spend time with his children, and spend time with his lover - that word still made him smile, every time he thought it. This was the first time he had had nothing to do for - actually, he could not remember the last time. Probably back when Maudie was still alive, but possibly not even then. It had been a long, long time, in any case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	46. I Have You Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda has a slight accident, and Thranduil learns a lesson about the resilience of human children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter with a Tilda warning on it, and also don't worry, nothing bad happens, just a slight accident and a bump to the head. No jump-scares or sudden tragedies here, I promise.

All was quiet in the tree above Bard for a while, save for the barely-audible murmur of conversation; presumably Tauriel was telling Tilda a story or two about her adventures with the Prince. Bard smiled; Tauriel seemed to have a never-ending supply of stories for Tilda, reminiscences of her own life, tales of her people’s history, and fairy stories that she had learned when she was young. _Perhaps stories will be told about us, one day_ , he thought to himself. _I suppose someone might write down our adventures sometime_.

Eventually there was a rustling noise from above, and the sounds of Tauriel and Tilda beginning to climb back down, still talking all the way. And then - it all happened at once - there was a sliding sound, a scream from Tilda, a shout of “Tilda!” from Tauriel, then “I’ve got you, pen-neth, I have you safe,” and Bard leapt to his feet. 

“What’s going on up there?” he called, already frantic with worry.

“Tilda slipped,” came Tauriel’s voice, “but I caught her before she could fall. I think she has hit her head, though.” Bard heard her taking a steadying breath. “I will carry her down to you. I will be only a few moments.”

“Thank you,” said Bard, his voice a shocked, breathless whisper, and he waited, fidgeting and tapping his feet, at the bottom of the tree for what felt like an eternity but was probably only half a minute or so, before Tauriel emerged from the branches with Tilda held close to her, and dropped lightly to the ground in front of him. 

“I think she is all right, only she is a little bit dazed,” said Tauriel as she laid Tilda on the ground at the foot of the tree, and Bard dropped to his knees beside her. This was not the first time one of his children had taken a blow to the head - they were all adventurous and somewhat reckless, just like their da - but it was certainly the first time it had happened in such dangerous circumstances, and he found he was feeling a little shaken himself.

Tilda was conscious, but her eyes were slightly unfocussed and she was very quiet. 

“How are you feeling, kitten?” Bard asked her, running his fingers very gently over her head and finding a bump already beginning to rise above her right ear, and she blinked slowly, once, twice.

“My head hurts,” she whispered, “and I’m all woozy.” Then she burst into tears, and Bard gathered her into his arms. 

“Oh, kitten, it’s all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair, “it’s all right, you’re safe. Nothing bad happened, you just bumped your head, and Tauriel was there to catch you.” He caught Tauriel’s eye over Tilda’s head. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I can’t even begin to tell you -“

“I could have done nothing else,” said Tauriel. “She is dear to me.”

“I know,” said Bard, “and I thank you. But I think our adventures are over for today.”

Tauriel nodded. “We should take her back and get the healers to take a look at her, just in case.”

“Healers,” said Bard, “I forgot you’d have those. We always just sort of…made do, in Lake-town. No money to see the quack, and most things I could handle. But we’ve all got a scar or two that would’ve been less if it’d been properly stitched.”

Tauriel nodded. “They will be able to give her something for the pain, at least, and tell us whether she needs to rest in bed.”

“Either bed, or stories and a cuddle from one of her favourite people,” said Bard, giving her a slightly shaky grin. “By which I mean you and Thranduil, of course.”

“Not her Da?” Tauriel asked, a tiny smile lightening her worried frown.

“Oh, I think we all know I’ve slipped down the list since you and he came on the scene,” said Bard, resettling Tilda in his arms as her sobs subsided into hiccups and sniffles. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Go on, kitten, blow. But gently, you don’t want to upset your head any more than you already have. Then mop your face up, we’re going back indoors.”

Tilda made a tiny sound of protest but did not actually argue, doing as she was told instead, and Bard thought that was probably a sign that she was more shaken up than she realised. 

“I will run ahead and alert the healers,” said Tauriel. “You remember the way back to the path?”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” said Bard, “it’s not that far, in any case. I’ll be right behind you.”

Tauriel took off at a run, and Bard eased to his feet, careful not to jolt Tilda. She shifted in his arms, her eyelids drooping, and he smoothed his hand over her hair.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet, kitten, not till the healers have had a look at you. They’ll want to make sure you haven’t had any sense knocked into that head of yours.”

He was gratified when Tilda gave him a tiny giggle, and they set off, making their way back to the halls at a somewhat more sedate pace. Tauriel was waiting at the gate when they arrived, with two Elves who Bard thought he vaguely recognised from Dale, after the battle, when the Elven healers had mixed with those few from Lake-town who had a little skill with medicinal herbs and suchlike; the quack himself had not made it out, apparently, and Bard was trying not to think too hard about what might have happened to him, just as he was trying not to think about what had happened to everyone else who had not turned up on the lake shore. 

The healers gave Tilda a brief look-over there and then, conferring in low tones, then one of them said something to Tauriel. 

“They say they do not think she needs to go to the infirmary, but we may take her to her own bed, and one of them will bring her a draught to ease the pain.”

“All right,” said Bard, but they had barely taken two steps before there was a commotion above them and Thranduil came sweeping down the steps, followed closely by Sigrid.

“What is this? What has happened?” he demanded. “Is Tilda all right, is she hurt?” He reached out a hand but stopped short before he touched her.

“She’s fine, I think,” said Bard, bracing for Thranduil’s anger when he heard that Tilda had hurt herself in Tauriel’s care. “She slipped, climbing a tree, but Tauriel caught her before she could fall, only she hit her head. She’s a bit woozy, so the healers said to put her to bed and they’ll bring her something for the pain.” He did not wish to downplay Tilda’s condition, but equally he did not wish for Tauriel to fall from her King’s favour again.

But no tirade came, and Bard realised, somewhat belatedly, that Thranduil was not angry; he was afraid, and worried. 

“She’s going to be fine,” he said, moving a little closer, and Tilda blinked sleepily up at Thranduil.

“Hello, Ada,” she said, a little indistinctly. “My head hurts.”

“Oh, pen-neth,” murmured Thranduil, smoothing his fingers over her hair, just the lightest of touches, “you must be more careful.”

Bard was fairly sure there was a note of unsteadiness in Thranduil’s voice, but it was not something to which he wanted to draw attention, not just now. 

“Mmm,” said Tilda. “I was careful. But my foot slipped. But Tauriel caught me. ‘M all right. Only my head hurts and I’m so sleepy.”

“You mustn’t sleep yet, kitten,” Bard reminded her. “Come on, let’s get you put to bed, then you can have the healers’ draught for your headache.” He began to move towards their chambers again, and after a moment everyone followed them, Thranduil never straying more than a few inches from his side, an anxious expression such as Bard had never before seen upon his face. 

“She is all right, isn’t she?” he heard Sigrid quietly asking Tauriel. 

“I do not think she has done herself any permanent damage; only given herself a fright, and a bump on the head,” said Tauriel, and Sigrid huffed out a relieved-sounding little laugh.

“She’s a tough little thing,” she said. “Once she’s got over the shock she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

When they reached their chambers, Bard laid Tilda on the bed and propped her up a little against the pillows, and Thranduil pulled a chair over to her bedside, placing himself at the head of the bed while Bard sat on the mattress next to Tilda’s legs, her hand in his. One of the healers brought the draught for the pain and gave Tilda a more thorough examination, establishing exactly what had happened and how Tilda was feeling via translation from both Thranduil and Tauriel, who was hovering at the foot of the bed with Sigrid. Eventually, they pronounced themselves satisfied that she had not sustained any more serious damage than the bump on the side of her head, which was now coming up like a hen’s egg, and that she could be allowed to go to sleep, if she wanted to. 

Tilda yawned widely on this being relayed to her, and swallowed down her medicine without complaint, snuggling down among the pillows and closing her eyes. Within a moment or two she was asleep, and Tauriel and Sigrid withdrew to the sitting room with the healer, leaving Bard and Thranduil alone with Tilda. 

“She really is going to be fine, you know,” said Bard quietly after a moment, watching Thranduil watching Tilda sleep, that tense, worried expression still upon his face. 

“You are all so fragile,” murmured Thranduil after a moment, turning stricken eyes upon him. “I forget it, but it would only take an accident, a slip on the stair, a fever, a fall from a tree to carry off any one of you.”

Bard edged closer, laying a hand upon Thranduil’s arm. “We are, but we are also resilient. We have survived worse already, and we will continue to do so.”

“You cannot promise me that,” said Thranduil, his voice low and aching and urgent. “Some things are beyond all our control.”

“That’s true,” said Bard, “but many things are not. And today, Tauriel was there, and she saved Tilda before she could fall. In Lake-town, when the Orcs came, Tauriel and your son were there, and in Dale, when a pair of Orcs nearly had the three of them, Bain stuck them with his sword and Sigrid protected Tilda. Any one of those events could have been the end of her, but they weren’t. She’s still here, my love, and she’s going to be fine. With any luck, she’s learnt a lesson about being careful even when she’s ridiculously excited.”

“But -“ said Thranduil, and Bard shook his head.

“No buts,” he said. “She’s fine. Now, come here.” He held his arms open and after a brief hesitation Thranduil moved into them, wrapping his own arms around Bard and holding him tightly, resting his head on Bard’s shoulder. Bard brought his hand up to smooth over Thranduil’s hair, and gradually the tension in his lover’s body subsided. 

“For the briefest of moments, when the messenger came to us in the library, I thought she was telling us that Tilda was dead,” said Thranduil eventually, his voice almost breaking. “And I did not know what to do.”

“I’m sorry we worried you so,” said Bard quietly. “I suppose I should have warned you that human children have all manner of accidents. Bumped heads, broken bones, cuts and scrapes and bruises, they’re all pretty run-of-the mill, and I got pretty good at patching them up, over the years. I’m guessing Elflings aren’t as accident-prone, what with all that Elven balance and grace and everything.”

“They were not,” said Thranduil, his face still buried in Bard’s shoulder. “They got themselves into their fair share of situations, but they were never injured, or at least, not - not in a situation where they might have died.”

“She didn’t die,” Bard reminded him, still smoothing his hand over Thranduil’s hair, slowly, soothingly. “She had your best guard with her, she could hardly have been any safer if she’d spent the day in bed.” He sighed. “Look, love, it’s the sort of thing that happens, and it’s a horrible shock when it does, but almost always it turns out to be nothing serious, and you just deal with it and carry on. It’s - that’s how we work, it’s how we’ve always worked. Everything is fine.”

Thranduil hauled in a long, shuddering breath, and Bard could feel him pulling himself together. “I suppose you are right. I am sorry. It was - it was just a shock, that is all, and I was afraid.”

“I know, love. I know,” he murmured, and Thranduil sat up, easing away from him just enough that he could look into his eyes.

“I like that,” he said softly. “That you call me ‘love’ all of a sudden. It warms my heart.”

Bard smiled. “Well, once I understood what you were calling me, it made me feel - well - wonderful, inside,” he said. “So I think that makes two of us.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead against Thranduil’s for a moment, and then brushed a kiss across Thranduil’s mouth, chaste but full of feeling.

They sat in silence for a while, watching Tilda sleep, and Bard laced his fingers through Thranduil’s, touched beyond measure by his lover’s worry for his daughter. In time, he hoped, Thranduil would learn not to fret every time something happened to one of them, and he hoped also that Thranduil’s fears would never be proved right. _We’ll make old bones_ , he thought, _every last one of us. We’re not leaving him until we absolutely have to_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	47. Everything Will Be All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard reassures Thranduil and tries to teach him a little about the human way of thinking, and Thranduil and Tilda come to an agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of a Tilda warning for this chapter: she's only in it at the end, but she is just as cute as usual. :D

After a while, Sigrid came back into the room, coming to lay one hand on Bard’s shoulder and the other on Thranduil’s. 

“I can sit with her for a while, if you two would like to get some air,” she said. “I’ve got plenty to read, and Tauriel says she’ll help me with the bits I don’t understand.”

Thranduil reluctantly tore his gaze from Tilda’s sleeping face to look up at Sigrid. She was smiling softly, and there was understanding in her eyes as she looked at him. 

“It’s all right, Ada,” she said, “Tilda’s fine, she’ll sleep it off and then she’ll be back to herself again. You and Da go and have a walk or something.”

A glance at Bard told Thranduil that he, too, seemed to think this was a good idea; there was a smile in his eyes and he nodded.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “We’ll not be too long. I should think your Ada will want to reassure himself again soon enough.”

Thranduil pulled himself together; if Bard and Sigrid were not worried about Tilda, then perhaps he should not be either. “Very well,” he said. “Thank you, melinettë-nín. Some fresh air would be welcome.” 

Sigrid squeezed his shoulder, and he raised his hand to cover hers for a moment, and then stood, smoothing his fingers over Tilda’s brow and murmuring a blessing for sleep and healing in his own tongue. Then he let Bard slide an arm around his back and guide him from the room, casting one last glance back at the little girl sleeping in her bed, the pink already returning to her cheeks, though she had been so pale when Bard had set her down.

They went to the balcony where they had eaten breakfast, and stood for a while at the railing, looking down over the gardens and orchards, the forest and the river, away to the lake and the mountain. Despite Bard’s presence at his side, his arm around Thranduil’s waist, Thranduil could not help thinking of the moment the messenger had disturbed him and Sigrid in the library, running it over and over through his mind. It had been one of the household servants, sent running to fetch him while another presumably ran for the healers, and she had burst in without waiting for a reply to her knock. He had turned to rebuke her, but the look on her face had stopped him in his tracks and her first words had sent a chill of fear through him. 

“My Lord, the Lady Tilda,” she had said, and Thranduil almost had not heard the rest of her words above the roar of his blood suddenly rushing in his ears, but he had made himself listen as the messenger had explained that Tilda had had a slight accident while climbing a tree and was not thought to be badly injured, but that she was still hurt and Tauriel thought he might like to come to see her. 

He had leapt to his feet, Sigrid close behind. “Tilda’s done something to herself, hasn’t she?” she had asked, her voice tense with worry, and Thranduil had translated the message for her as they made their way hastily out of the library, heading for the entrance hall. Sigrid had seemed reassured by its contents, but all Thranduil could think of was Tilda’s little body lying broken beneath a tree, and by the time they came to the top of the stairs and saw Bard with Tilda in his arms, awake and looking more or less well, he was almost frantic with worry. Bard’s initial reassurances had not hit home, and it was not until they had seen Tilda into bed and the healer had examined her that he had been able to give voice to his fears. Mortals were so fragile; not only could they die, it was much easier for them to do so, or be injured, or to become ill, and it had not occurred to him beyond the knowledge that he would lose them all eventually. He had assumed that it would be old age that would carry them off, but that was hopelessly naïve of him. Any number of things could happen, he could lose any one of them at any moment, before he was ready, and what then, what then?

He sighed, closing his eyes as he returned to the present moment, trying to let Bard’s words of reassurance comfort him. This was only a minor mishap, it was not anything to worry about, it was nothing Bard had not seen before. But it brought home to him, yet again, how much heartbreak he was setting himself up for, when the time came for them to leave him; he would never be ready for it to happen.

Gentle fingers on the right side of his jaw nudged him to turn his head, and he opened his eyes to meet Bard’s open, compassionate gaze. 

“It’s all right, love,” Bard murmured. “Everything will be all right.”

“I wish I could believe you,” Thranduil whispered, “but all I can think of is losing you, and the children. I do not know how I will survive it.”

“It won’t happen yet,” said Bard firmly. “And when it does, the rest of us will be there for you. We won’t all go at once.”

“You cannot guarantee that,” said Thranduil almost desperately. “Something might happen and -“

Bard cut him off, shaking his head with a smile. “Let’s just say it’s very, very unlikely,” he said. “At least one of us will be there with you every time it happens, and when one or other of the children has children of their own, there will be more of us to take care of you. We won’t leave you to suffer alone, that I _can_ promise you.” He cupped the right side of Thranduil’s face in his hand, pulling him down for a kiss, soft and lingering and reassuring. 

Thranduil closed his eyes, losing himself in Bard’s touch, the gentle press of his lips, the soft, almost tentative slide of his tongue, let his hands slide into Bard’s hair, his fingers cradling the back of Bard’s head and his thumbs lining his jaw. It was something else he was going to have to learn to live with, he thought, the constant fear that something would happen to one of them, the dread of having to carry on living afterwards, without them. 

Bard pulled back a little, just enough to speak, amusement in his eyes. “I can hear you thinking,” he said. “Can you try and set it aside? We’re all here now, everything is fine.”

“I know,” said Thranduil, lowering his lashes. “It is - it is a hard thought to let go.”

“We’re going to have to teach you to live for the present, not the future,” said Bard, another smile warming his voice. “Make plans but be ready for them to change, and don’t waste time worrying about what _might_ happen, but think about what _is_ happening instead.” He rested his forehead against Thranduil’s for a moment. “Let me give you something else to think about,” he said, and tilted his head to capture Thranduil’s mouth in another kiss, as soft and insistent as the last. 

Thranduil let his eyes fall closed again, trying to focus on the sensations instead of his thoughts, pushing his dread and his fear firmly aside. Far more pleasant to concentrate on the way Bard’s hair felt, sifting through his fingers, falling in thick, soft waves, the feeling of Bard’s strong body pressed close against his, Bard’s arms around him, his hand stroking gently over Thranduil’s hair. And what a pleasure it was, he thought, to have nothing to do other than to stand here and kiss this beautiful man, to let himself be distracted from all of his worries by the brush of his lips and the touch of his tongue, sending summer lightning shivering all through him. Bard was right, he thought, he should not waste time worrying about the end coming when Bard and the children were _here_ , with him, when the time they had was limited. He would learn not to waste a single second of it.

“There,” said Bard against Thranduil’s lips after a while, “how’s that? Better?”

“Much better,” said Thranduil with a soft laugh. “Thank you. You remind me not to waste the time that I have with you.”

“Well, I don’t think any of it’s truly wasted, if we’re together,” said Bard, “but I do wish you could let yourself set your thoughts aside. And if kissing you until you stop thinking is what does the trick, then perhaps I should do that more often.”

Thranduil laughed again. “Perhaps you should, meleth-nín,” he said. “I certainly would not protest.”

“Perhaps I shall,” said Bard with a mischievous grin, and he closed the short distance between them again. 

Thranduil let go of his thoughts again, let himself be drawn into the safety and warmth again, only the two of them in the whole of this little world. He drifted, lost in the sensations, allowing himself not to think, only to feel, allowing himself just to be happy without any of the fear or the dread. Time passed, he supposed, but he could not bring himself to care about that, only about Bard and the warm smile in his eyes, the well-banked fire in his kisses; Thranduil did not want more, not at this particular moment, just this. This was _everything_.

Eventually, however, there was a soft sound at the entrance to the balcony, and they eased reluctantly apart, glancing round to see that it was Sigrid standing there. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Da, Ada,” she said, mischievous glee dancing in her eyes, “only Tilda’s awake and she’s asking for you. Both of you.”

“How is she?” asked Bard, and Thranduil held his breath, all the fear threatening to come flooding back. 

“She’s fine,” said Sigrid, grinning. “Demanding stories and cuddles and generally taking full advantage of having got herself a bump on the head. Tauriel is still with her, but she wants you two.”

Thranduil let out the breath he had been holding. “Then let us go to her at once,” he said, tucking Bard’s arm through his and sweeping across the balcony, offering his other arm to Sigrid. 

Tilda was sitting up in bed when they reached her, and Tauriel was sitting on the mattress beside her telling her a story. She broke off when Bard, Thranduil and Sigrid entered the room, and Tilda let out a rather subdued squeak, holding her arms out to them. Thranduil hung back a little as Bard went to her, wrapping her up in a hug and murmuring an enquiry as to how she was feeling, but after a moment or two she shifted in her father’s embrace, reaching one hand out to Thranduil. 

“Ada, can I have a hug?” she asked plaintively, and Thranduil went to kneel beside the bed, gathering her into his arms as she leaned towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Are you feeling better, pen-neth?” he asked her, and she nodded against the side of his head.

“Lots better. My head’s still sore but only when I touch it.” 

“Don’t touch it, then,” said Bard, and Thranduil laughed softly.

“Your father is quite right. And I am glad you are feeling better. You gave me a terrible fright.”

“Did I?” Tilda pulled away just enough to be able to look at him, although she kept her arms firmly locked around his neck.

“You did. I thought you had injured yourself very badly.” He thought he could spare her the worst of his fears.

“But I didn’t,” said Tilda, “I only bumped my head and I’m all right.”

“We know,” said Bard, “but you have to remember that your Ada isn’t used to children hurting themselves. Elflings don’t have accidents like you lot do. So he was very worried about you, kitten, and you have to promise to be more careful.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, pulling a considering sort of face. 

“I know that you are adventurous, pen-neth, and very brave,” said Thranduil, “but you are easily hurt, much more easily than my people, and it would grieve me if you were to be injured.”

“Oh,” said Tilda again. “I didn’t mean to make you worried, Ada.”

“I know you did not,” said Thranduil. “It was an accident, and you were not badly hurt. But another time you might be, and so I would like to ask you, if I may, to be careful in your adventures, because you are very dear to me and I do not want to see you hurt.”

Tilda was quiet a moment, but then she hugged him close again. “I’m sorry I upset you, Ada,” she said, her voice somewhat muffled as she was speaking into his hair. “I promise I’ll be more careful.”

“That is all I ask, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, gently patting her back. “Thank you.”

“Well done, kitten,” said Bard. “Now you just have to stick to it.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Tilda.

“Even the Valar cannot do more than that,” said Thranduil. “Now, do you think you feel well enough to get up? I thought you might like to come and sit with us all in the sitting-room, and perhaps eat some fruit, if you feel like it?”

“Yes please,” said Tilda, and so it was that she came to be settled in Thranduil’s lap upon the sofa, her feet in Bard’s lap and her head on Thranduil’s shoulder, Tauriel’s fingers gently braiding her hair, and Sigrid sitting in the armchair with her book, glancing up at them every now and then with a smile. By the time Bain arrived back from the training arena, full of tales about the techniques he had learned today, Tilda had fallen asleep again, and the others were talking softly about this and that. And Thranduil watched them all, listening to their conversations and marvelling that even after all that had happened, suddenly he found himself here, in the heart of a family who loved him, and whom he loved with all of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> meleth-nín: my love  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	48. So Much Better Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil talk about life in Lake-town, and Bard gives Thranduil a talking-to about Tauriel.

After Tilda’s accident, she spent her days in more sedate pursuits; she did not want to climb trees any more, or at least, she said, not until she was bigger and could reach better. So she passed her days in the gardens and the orchards, sometimes with Tauriel and quite often with Thranduil, and, after her curiosity was sparked by watching some flower bulbs being planted for the summer, sometimes with the Elves who worked there, learning about everything they grew. Bain continued his training with the Woodland Guard, and Feren reported that the lad was becoming quite adept with sword and bow, even acquitting himself well in a sparring session with Feren, although he acknowledged that Feren had been taking things easy with him. And Sigrid spent all her days in the library, sometimes with Tauriel, sometimes with Feren, and sometimes with Thranduil, learning Elvish and discussing politics and history. Bard was quietly overwhelmed at how much his children were flourishing under the instruction of the Elves, how many new things they were learning, how many opportunities had come their way out of the catastrophe that had swept away their home the previous autumn.

“Our lives are so much better now,” he said to Thranduil one afternoon, leaning on the balcony railing and looking down into the garden, watching as Tilda helped two of the gardeners weed a flower bed. “I think I lost sight of it for a while, but we’d never have got ourselves out of Lake-town if everything that happened had never come to us. We lost a lot - we lost everything, everyone did, but I’m just beginning to see that it’s given us all the chance to build something better in its place.”

“I never visited Lake-town,” said Thranduil, “although long ago I visited Esgaroth once or twice.”

“Lake-town was built on the ruins of Esgaroth,” said Bard, “you could see bits of stonework here and there among the wooden buildings, and there were great columns and statues rising out of the lake on the way in, by boat. Esgaroth looked as though it was a magnificent place in its time. Lake-town was a mean, miserable little shanty-town by comparison.” He sighed. “But it was home. We were all poor as dirt, we lived hand-to-mouth, every last one of us, and most of the time, all there was to eat was fish, and not enough of it. It was cold and damp and everything leaked. But it was all we knew.”

“I do not know what I would do if I lost my home,” said Thranduil. “It is bad enough that I have lost so much of the Greenwood to the evil from the south. But to lose the rest of the wood, my halls, and have to begin again somewhere else - meleth-nín, I do not know how you are doing it.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly have much choice,” said Bard. “But to have the opportunity to build a better life, where everyone has the same chances, the same opportunities, the same benefits - that is something we did not look for, when we dragged ourselves out of the lake after the dragon. But Dale, for all that it’s ruined, is in a much better position than Lake-town, and it’s got the potential to be a much nicer place to live.”

“Dale was a great city before the dragon,” said Thranduil. “It was the orchard of the North; apple-trees and grapevines grew in the streets, and the toy-market was something to behold. Every householder grew fruit and vegetables in their garden, and traders came from far and wide. I think you will be able to restore it to its former glory, or even to surpass it, given a few years.”

“I hope so,” said Bard. “Although we’ll have our work cut out getting the place fit for a visit from Lord Elrond first, of course.” He flashed Thranduil an amused look; he had recovered by now from the shock of Sigrid and Thranduil’s announcement that they were planning to invite the Lord of Rivendell and his household to Dale for talks with the Dwarves about the threat from the ancient evil Sauron. Bard had been torn between bewilderment that the dark lord from the myths and legends not only was real but had somehow returned - and panic at the thought of hosting not one but two great Elven lords and a Dwarven King. At least Thranduil and Dáin knew what a state the place was in, he had thought, but Elrond? He would surely be expecting decent accommodation, a comfortable bed and running water, and Bard was not at all confident that he would be able to provide any of those things by the autumn.

“You will be fine,” said Thranduil, “and trust me, Elrond is an old soldier. He will understand, and it will not be the first night he has spent in less than complete luxury.”

“Still,” said Bard, “I’d like to be able to give him somewhere to stay that doesn’t have holes in the roof, at least. And I suppose he’ll be bringing any number of people with him.”

“I have not yet had a reply to my letter,” said Thranduil, “but I imagine he will bring his chief advisor, his captain, possibly his steward, and very possibly his sons.”

“And how many of _those_ does he have?” asked Bard.

“Just the two,” said Thranduil, “but they are identical twins, so they are at once fewer and far more than two.”

“Trouble, are they?” asked Bard, and Thranduil snorted.

“I have not seen them for a very long time, and it is possible that they have grown up over the course of the intervening centuries, but something tells me it is unlikely.”

“I see,” said Bard. “So we’ll have to have our wits about us.”

“I think it would be wise,” said Thranduil. “But in the meantime, do not worry about it. You have Dwarven builders, and I will send some of our artisans to assist with the less structural aspects.”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Bard. “Thank you. And some of the Lake-towners are learning masonry from the Dwarves. Others are picking up the rudiments of architecture, and structural engineering, the Dwarves call it. We’re learning, all of us.”

“I am glad,” said Thranduil. “That you are able to build something better out of the ruins, for all of your people.” He smoothed his hand up Bard’s back, his fingers caressing the back of Bard’s neck. “And that you are a better leader by far than the Master of Lake-town. Although from all I have heard of him, I wonder that he was ever able to rise to the position he held.”

Bard shuddered; he could not help it, even now. Any mention of the Master, or of Alfrid, made his skin crawl. “He was good at manipulation, in the beginning,” he said. “He wanted power, when most others didn’t want the bother of running the town, and once he had achieved it, he held onto it with all his might. Anyone who dared to speak up about the way things were going had their life made difficult soon enough.”

“Meaning yourself, I suppose,” said Thranduil, amusement in his voice, and when Bard looked at him he saw that he was arching one perfect eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said. “I could never see an injustice and turn a blind eye.”

“And so you made the Master’s life difficult in return,” said Thranduil.

“Well, I tried,” said Bard. “Not much I could do, though, the man’s reach was everywhere. Between his horrible little lackey and his network of spies, there was very little I could do without him knowing about it.” He shuddered again. “And I know all of the people who used to spy on me. They’re in Dale now, the ones who survived. But I know they were only doing it because they had no choice; they were all spying on each other, more or less. Even Hilda was up to her neck in it, though she actually spent most of her time helping me, she was only spying on me because the Master had her over a barrel about her husband. He disappeared, very mysteriously, a few years ago, but he used to beat her, and none of us were sorry to see the back of him, but the Master held it over her.”

“And you have forgiven them?” asked Thranduil.

“I’ve got no choice,” said Bard. “I know the circumstances. I know they were in an impossible position.”

“You do not fear they will work against you again?”

“There’s nobody to manipulate them any more, or to give them reason to, I don’t think,” said Bard. “I hope - I trust - that I will be able to provide for their best interests, so that they will not need to. And Hilda’s a force to be reckoned with, as you’ve probably already gathered. She’s relieved to be out from under the Master’s yoke, and she’s thrown herself completely behind me, so anyone who wasn’t inclined to listen to me, but is prepared to give her the time of day - they’re with me, too.”

Thranduil pressed a kiss to his temple. “You will do your best, in any case. I know you are not able to do any less.”

“I’m glad you’ve got faith in me,” said Bard. “Me, I’m just looking at the scale of all I have to do, and I’m terrified. Bringing up the children on my own, dealing with the Dwarves, killing the dragon, taking everyone to Dale, fighting that damned battle - all of that was one thing, but making sure an entire city’s worth of people has somewhere to live, enough food and firewood, people kept happy, allies to help us - well, you were a very pleasant surprise, but Dáin has not been so easy to deal with - all of it is so daunting.”

“You have Sigrid, you have me, you have Tauriel, and from the sounds of it you have at least some of the Dwarves and some of your compatriots from Lake-town. Do not worry, meleth-nín. All will be well.”

Bard closed his eyes for a moment. “I hope so. Tauriel has been marvellous, and Sigrid’s been an unexpected blessing. Well, I always knew she was capable of far more than I could give her the opportunity to achieve, but she’s surprised me with how well she’s taken to the politics of it all.”

“She has a keen intellect,” said Thranduil, “and a way of seeing through complex issues to the heart of the matter. I suppose one might have expected her to turn her hand to healing, or to the practical aspects of running your much expanded household, but truly I think she is perfectly suited to strategy and politics.”

“I think she learned more than I realised in Lake-town,” said Bard, “watching the Master and Alfrid, and watching me, I suppose. Not to mention wrangling her little brother and sister when I was gone on the barge. She’s had a lot of practice at a small scale, and she’s always been sharp as a knife. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised that she’s taken to it so well.”

Thranduil laughed. “So she is now applying her small-scale experience to the larger scale, which, I suppose, makes Dáin and myself the equivalent of Bain and Tilda. Should I be offended?” 

Bard looked up at him, but Thranduil’s eyes were sparkling with amusement, no hint of actual offence upon his face.

“I think you might rather be flattered,” he said. “She adores her siblings, and she adores you. She likes Dáin too - I think she sees him as a challenge.”

“And I am not a challenge?” Thranduil arched an eyebrow, still amused.

“I think you were at first,” said Bard, considering his response carefully. “But because your relationship to her is different to Dáin’s, because of me, she knew that it was in your interest to be our ally. For Dáin, she had to come up with more arguments to persuade him, because he has no connection to us.” He flashed Thranduil a grin. “And anyway, you were a different sort of challenge. You had the potential to disrupt our family, the potential to hurt me, and she takes that sort of threat very seriously.”

“I did not intend to be a threat,” said Thranduil, “but I can understand why she saw me as such. But I am happy that we came to terms early on, and I was able to make my intentions clear.”

“I know, love,” Bard smiled. “So am I. But I’m glad to have her as my defender.”

“She is indeed most fierce,” said Thranduil. “And I think you know by now that I will defend you, too.”

“I know,” said Bard, and he tilted his face up for a kiss. “And you know I’ll defend you, if you ever need it. So will the children. And so will Tauriel.” Another kiss, and then he eased back so that he could look Thranduil in the eyes. “Speaking of Tauriel, have you talked to her yet?” He knew that Thranduil had not, but he was learning that the best way to persuade his lover to do something he was reluctant about was to ask questions and make gentle suggestions, rather than telling him outright that he should do it.

Thranduil glanced away and down, looking a little ashamed. “I have not. It has been - difficult, to find the right opportunity. She is busy. I do not wish to upset her, or take her away from her limited time with her friends.”

Bard huffed out a slightly exasperated sigh. “She has limited time with you, too, you know. And you’re wasting it.” He placed a finger under Thranduil’s chin, raising his head to meet his gaze and fixing him with a firm stare. “She wants nothing more than to be properly reconciled with you, and you know it. She loves her friends, but she loves you more, and she’s waiting for you to take that first step towards her, to let her back in again. It has to be you, love. You’re the one who shut her out, you’re the one who has to open the door first.”

“I know you are right, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, echoing Bard’s sigh with one of his own. “But - somehow it was easy to let you in, and the children, because I had never shut you out. Tauriel, however - I have been pushing her away for centuries, and I do not know how to stop being that person with her. It is easy not to be him with you, because I never was.”

“Just go and find her,” said Bard, “walk with her in the gardens or something, tell her how you feel. Pretend you never shut her out, if you have to, to get past that initial difficulty. You’ll have to address it with her eventually, but it might help to break the ice.” He took Thranduil’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “You’re going to have to open yourself up to her, love, you’re going to have to be vulnerable, but it’ll be worth it. After all, you were vulnerable with me and nothing terrible happened.” He grinned, “Well, other than that you ended up being swarmed by a pile of impudent children.”

Thranduil gave a faint laugh. “I suppose so. I would not count that as being particularly terrible.”

“Look, the worst that can happen is that she yells at you and then she leaves, but she’s coming back to Dale with us anyway. And she understands why you acted as you did - more so, now that she has lost someone herself. But don’t forget that you and Legolas were not the only people who lost someone when your wife died. Tauriel lost her too.”

Thranduil closed his eyes briefly, a pained expression flitting across his face. “I know. And I took us both away from her, not just Auriel but myself, too.”

“You didn’t take Auriel away from her, love,” Bard pointed out. “It was not your fault that Auriel died.”

“I led the army that day,” said Thranduil quietly. “I could have - I should have made her stay here, with the children, but she insisted on riding at my side.”

“Of course she did,” said Bard, “and that was her decision to make, not yours. It was nobody’s fault that she died, except the Orcs who killed her.” He slid his arms around Thranduil and hugged him close. “We’ll talk about this later, if you want to. But now, I think you should go and find Tauriel and start to mend the bridges between you. She needs you, you know. She is beginning to recover from what happened on Ravenhill, but the hurt is still deep.”

“I - no, you are right, meleth-nín. I am wasting time.”

“You are,” said Bard, not unkindly. “Go on with you, go and find her. I’ll come with you if you want, but I think when you find her you ought to talk to her alone.”

“Thank you,” said Thranduil, a wry smile upon his lips. “It is absurd. I can face an army of Sauron’s creatures with barely a shudder, but the thought of speaking openly to Tauriel, begging her forgiveness - it fills me with uncertainty.”

“Because you’ve spent so long letting people think you’re infallible,” said Bard with a mischievous grin. “Of course that makes it harder to admit that you’ve been wrong.”

“It is not just the children who are impudent,” said Thranduil, but he was smiling, and Bard grinned. 

“That’s why you love us,” he said. “We’re not afraid to tell you the things you need to hear.”

“And I am glad of it,” said Thranduil, “much as it sometimes stings to hear it.”

“Good,” said Bard. “We’re only doing it because we love you, in any case. We’re not doing it to hurt you, but to help. Now, go on with you. Go and find Tauriel, take her for a walk in the gardens or something. Let her know she truly has her Adarhanar back.” He thought he had made a fairly decent stab at the pronunciation, and was rewarded with a smile.

“You are picking up my language without even realising it, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil. “And I like the way it sounds in your voice, your accent.”

“I’m glad,” said Bard, “but you’re stalling. Go!” He stepped deliberately out of Thranduil’s arms and gave him a little push.

“Very well,” laughed Thranduil, “I go, I go. Wish me luck, meleth-nín.”

“You won’t need it, but good luck anyway,” said Bard. “I am sure that it will all go well.”

“I hope so,” said Thranduil, leaning in for a brief kiss and then turning, sweeping away to find Tauriel. Bard watched him go, smiling to himself, and then turned to look out over the gardens again. Tilda was chattering away to the gardeners, holding up this plant and that, presumably asking what they were, and it did him good to see her developing another new interest besides bewildering her Ada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love  
> adarhanar: uncle (my own construction; literally: father-brother)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	49. We Begin Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil begins to reconcile with Tauriel.

Thranduil went in search of Tauriel, his heart in his mouth despite himself. It was stupid, he told himself, and Bard was right; but yet he still could not quite get over his old, long-ingrained habits. He had been careful to present himself as unreachable, unattainable, infallible, to all who encountered him, whether they be friend, foe, potential ally, subject - or family. He had treated Tauriel like the rest of his subjects for far too long. He had pretended he saw her as lesser for her Silvan heritage though in truth he had never looked down upon his Silvan people, he had been needlessly cruel to her even before the incident in Dale. He owed her an apology.

She was not in the library with Sigrid; he stopped for a few moments to explain a point of grammar and give Sigrid his own perspective on the part of the War of Wrath about which she was reading, and then went on his way again. Sigrid thought that Tauriel might be training with Bain and the Woodland Guard, but although he found Bain with his guards, Tauriel was nowhere to be seen. She had not been in the gardens with Tilda, and so Thranduil resigned himself to spending the afternoon wandering his halls in search of her.

He eventually found her in the dungeons, sitting outside one of the cells, a faraway expression on her face. Her head snapped up as she heard him approach, her expression clearing to one of careful neutrality, although when she saw it was him her features softened into a smile and she got to her feet. 

“Adarhanar,” she said. “I was just -“

“Remembering your Dwarf?” he said, his voice soft, affectionate. 

Tauriel’s expression briefly crumpled almost imperceptibly, before she schooled her face back into a smile. “Yes,” she said, glancing at the cell door. “It was here that we first spoke properly.”

“I must remember not to put you in charge of prisoners again,” he said, trying for levity, “if you are going to be prone to falling in love with them.”

A stricken expression passed across her face again, and Thranduil immediately regretted his choice of words.

“I am sorry, hanariel-nín,” he said. “I am - I have forgotten how to talk to you.”

“I know,” said Tauriel softly. “And I have forgotten how to talk to you. But you need not worry about your prisoners, for I will not be here to guard them, will I?”

Thranduil sighed. “Not for ever, pen-neth. I never intended your banishment to be permanent. I am sorry if I did not make that clear.”

“That is - it is a relief to hear. I am happy in Dale, but it is not my home. It has been difficult, sometimes, thinking that I might never again live beneath the trees of the Woodland Realm.”

“I will bring you home eventually, hanariel-nín, I promise you that,” said Thranduil. “I need you in Dale for the time being, and I think our new little family needs you too, but when - when the time comes that they do not need us any more, you may come home if you want.”

“Thank you, adarhanar,” said Tauriel, her eyes downcast. “I - I am finding it difficult to think of that time. They have come to mean a great deal to me.”

“As they have to me,” said Thranduil. “I did not look for it, and it was the last thing I was expecting, but I am finding that they are helping me more than I could have dreamed possible.”

“They are a great help to me, too,” said Tauriel. “The children are always ready to distract me from my grief, and Bard understands what it is like to lose someone so dear. More than I do, if I am honest. I had so little time to -“ Her voice wavered, threatened to break, and Thranduil stepped forward, holding his arms out to her, if she wanted him. After a moment she moved into his embrace, wrapping her arms tightly around him, and he held her close, one hand coming up to stroke her hair.

“I am sorry, hanariel-nín, that such sorrow has come to you. You only ever deserved joy.”

“Sometimes I wish that I had never met him,” said Tauriel. “And then other times I feel as though I would not be without the joy of the handful of hours and days that I knew him. But the pain is so great, and I do not quite know what to do with it, how to bear it.”

“I think we have well established that Bard and the children will be better teachers to you than I,” said Thranduil softly. “I am only now beginning to let go of the pain of losing your adarmuinthel, and only thanks to them.”

“But you understand,” said Tauriel, stepping back to look up at him. “I saw it in your eyes, after the battle.”

“I understand,” Thranduil murmured. “For a long time, I thought I wished I had never met her, if losing her was going to bring me so much pain. And after that, when I knew that I would have suffered anything to have had her by my side - the knowledge made it no easier to bear. And I could not - I could not look at the two of you, Legolas and you, because you reminded me so very much of her. I took out my grief on the pair of you, and I will never be able to find words adequate to tell you how sorry I am.”

“We missed you so much,” said Tauriel softly. “ _I_ missed you. I know Legolas did too, but that is his tale to tell. But I - I had already lost my parents. To lose Adarmuinthel and then you -“ She broke off, blinking back tears, and Thranduil felt her sorrow as a knife twisting in his heart.

“I know that now. But my grief made me blind. I treated you unforgivably badly, and I know I have no right to ask your forgiveness. But - I find that I miss you.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I was wrong to push you and Legolas away from me. I should have been the father you both needed. One day I hope to have the opportunity to tell my son so, but today - today you are here, and I can say it to you. I am only sorry I did not see it long ago.”

Tauriel was silent for a long moment, looking away from him, back at the Dwarf’s cell again. Eventually she spoke, although she did not look at him, and her voice was tense and full of pain.

“I have been trying, this winter, to begin to forgive you,” she said. “I know your reasons, and I know a little of your pain, now. But as much as I _know_ , I cannot quite understand, in my heart, how you could abandon two little children who had lost their mother. I look at Bain and Tilda, and I cannot imagine closing myself away from them, no matter how much pain I am in.”

“I have no excuses,” said Thranduil quietly. “I should have set aside my grief and taken care of the two of you. I should have allowed you to ease my pain. I should have -“ he broke off, his throat suddenly too painfully tight to speak.

“But you did not,” whispered Tauriel. “You could not. And - and we cannot go back and set it right, not now. But I have missed you so badly, and if you - if we can somehow begin again, I would -“ her voice cracked and she swallowed hard before speaking again. “I would like that more than anything,” she said after a moment. “Because I know that I cannot survive this grief alone and I - I need every last member of this new family I have found, including you. Especially you, Adarhanar.” Her voice broke completely then and the tears that had been brimming in her eyes spilled over, and Thranduil gathered her into his arms again, holding her tight. 

“Hanariel-nín, loth-tithen-nín, I am so sorry,” he murmured. “And I would like to begin again, with you, if you will have me. I have come to realise that I cannot continue as I have been, and I cannot live this life alone any longer. I should never have tried.”

“I can’t remember the last time you called me that,” said Tauriel, her voice catching upon a sob. 

“And I - I cannot remember the last time I -“ Thranduil had to pause before he could continue. “Lass-tithen-nín, loth-tithen-nín, you were the light of my life, the pair of you.”

“Perhaps we can be that for you again,” said Tauriel, taking a deep breath and blinking her tears away, looking up at him.

“I do not think Legolas will ever return home,” Thranduil said, wrenching the words out. 

“He needs time,” said Tauriel. “And to know that you have changed. But until he comes back - until he comes back, and afterwards as well, you have me. And Bard, and the children.”

“And when they are gone -“ Thranduil closed his eyes, it hurt even to say the words.

“You will still have me. And if I must, I will go and find Legolas and bring him back to you.” Tauriel’s voice was full of confidence, so much that Thranduil almost could not bear to hear it.

“And if he does not wish to return?” The question hurt to ask, but Thranduil could not leave it unspoken, not now.

“He will,” said Tauriel. “I will convince him. I will not see this rift between you last longer than it has to.” She smiled. “Besides, Tilda has decided that she is going to fix everything and bring him home.”

Thranduil looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “I suppose I should not be surprised,” he said, “although I do not know how she thinks she will achieve such a feat, since she is here, and he is far away.”

“Do not underestimate her, adarhanar,” said Tauriel.

“I am already learning that lesson,” said Thranduil, rather ruefully. 

“So I hear,” said Tauriel. “She likes you a lot, and she’s determined to do whatever is in her power to help you.”

“I am very fond of her, too,” said Thranduil. “As I am of all of them. They are - they are delightful. Just as you two were.”

“They have been a joy to be around, these last six months,” said Tauriel. “I am looking forward to seeing them grow up.”

“They will make fine rulers of Dale,” said Thranduil. “Their father will see to it; he is a good man.”

“He is,” said Tauriel, “and he is good for you, too.”

Thranduil could not help the warm smile that spread across his face at that. “I believe you are right,” he said. “I can count myself fortunate indeed that the misfortune of the battle led me to him, little as I deserved it.”

“I think we all can,” said Tauriel. “Including him. You’ve brought him great joy when he sorely needed it.”

“We have gained a family, much as we had not looked for it,” said Thranduil. “I had forgotten how it felt.”

“So had I,” said Tauriel. “Legolas and I, we tried to be what each other needed, but there was only so much we could do for each other. He needs this family as much as you or I, and it is my hope he will return to be adopted into it just as you and I were.” She smiled, and clasped his arm. “No more recriminations. From now on, we begin again.”

“Nothing would make me happier,” said Thranduil. “And I hope that my son will be able to feel the sheer bewilderment that I have felt at being adopted by Tilda and the rest.” He laughed softly, and clasped Tauriel’s arm. “Bard said I should take you for a walk in the gardens, to talk to you, and here we are in the dungeons. But I think we have reached the agreement we needed to reach.”

Tauriel laughed too, her eyes dancing. “I think we have. And we still have time to walk in the gardens, if that is what you want to do. Tilda is there, after all, and she will surely have much to tell us about what she has been doing.”

“I would like that,” said Thranduil, “very much indeed,” and he offered Tauriel his arm; she took it, and they went up out of the dungeons and into the gardens, to find Tilda and hear all of her stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> adarhanar: uncle (my own construction; literally: father-brother)  
> hanariel-nín: my niece (my own construction; literally: brother-daughter)  
> adarmuinthel: aunt (my own construction; literally: father-sister)  
> loth-tithen-nín: my little flower  
> lass-tithen-nín: my little leaf
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	50. Terribly Dull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is Bard and his family's last night in the Woodland Realm; Sigrid gives her Da and her Ada a talking-to about wasting time.

All too soon it was time for Bard and his family to leave the Woodland Realm and return to Dale - but they had been there a month, and Bard knew that he could not leave his responsibilities any longer. He had left Percy and Hilda in charge, but it was not fair to expect them to keep running things for him, and besides, he had work to do, if in half a year’s time he was going to be hosting three other leaders for serious talks on the future of their nations, and possibly the whole of Middle-Earth.

Besides, he and Thranduil had already agreed that Thranduil would spend Midsummer in Dale. It was only three months away, and that, thought Bard, was not so long. He felt better about their separation this time, too; though he was not looking forward to it, and he knew he would miss Thranduil terribly every day they were apart, at least this time they knew what they were to each other, this time they stood on solid ground together. 

There was another formal dinner, the night before their departure, to bid them farewell, and this time Bard thought he could see various of the Elves glancing at each other, and looking at him and at Thranduil. This was surely the longest state visit the Woodland Realm had witnessed in centuries, and Bard knew the braid in his hair had been noticed, and the way Thranduil was with his children. They had been careful to present an innocent front in public, but Bard thought anyone who had been looking at them properly would probably have been able to divine at least a little of what they had become to each other. Well, he supposed it was only to be expected that they would become a subject of gossip, and the matter would have to be addressed eventually, but what Thranduil told or did not tell his subjects was his business. Bard was more worried about the reactions of the people of Dale, and, even more so, Dáin and the Dwarves. He was determined to treat everyone equally, and for no sign of undue influence to be seen in his actions, but he knew that people would talk. They would have to strike a balance between openness and privacy, he knew, and he was not yet sure how they would manage it.

Bard knew that Thranduil also noticed the looks, the concealed whispers, but he also knew that his lover cared not a bit for the opinions of his people about his private business. So he tried his best to forget, and to make himself not care either, to relax and enjoy the evening with his family. 

Bain and Feren were talking weaponry and battle tactics with Tauriel, as usual; well, it was practically the only thing Bain had talked about since his first day here, and Bard was pleased to see the lad flourishing as he progressed in his training. Weapons had been found in the armoury for Bain and his friends, daggers and long knives for them to use until they grew tall enough for the swords that had been recovered in Dale, and Thranduil’s bowmakers had supplied several slightly smaller longbows for them to practise their archery with. Not that Bain would need the small-size bow or sword for long, Bard thought ruefully; within the year his son would be taller than him, the rate the lad was growing. 

Sigrid, too, was growing taller, up to Bard’s shoulder now, and her intellect was sharper and keener than ever. She could now hold a creditable conversation in Sindarin, and in fact at this moment was discussing some aspect of Second Age history with Thranduil almost entirely in his language, only having to drop into Westron occasionally when she could not find a particular word to express what she wanted to say. She had already begun on translating the Elvish history book she had been studying, and Thranduil had made a gift to her of the grammar primer and dictionary she had been using in his library, along with a promise of more books when she had a suitable room to use as a library of her own. 

And Tilda, as well as making friends with what seemed like every last Elf in the Woodland Realm, had discovered a real love for gardening and growing things. Thranduil had told her tales of Dale’s past glories as the orchard of the North, and she was determined to go home and start planting vegetable plants and fruit trees, and seeing whether any of the trees in Dale were somehow still alive, now that spring had come and it might be possible to see green shoots after the cold of winter. She had already earmarked several parts of the city to be used as market gardens, regardless of whether there were already plans for other things to be built there, and she had amassed a great collection of seeds, bulbs, young plants and saplings to take back with her, along with copious lists of instructions as to what to do with the things to make sure they grew well. 

Tauriel, meanwhile, seemed much happier now that she and Thranduil had reconciled - or at least, had begun to mend the bridges between them. They were still not as close as they had once been, and Bard thought that there was some reluctance to trust on both sides, but that would come with time. They had spent so very long at odds, after all, and much had been said that could not be unsaid, but they were making progress, and he thought that could only be a positive sign. 

And he himself, and Thranduil - well, they had spent the month almost entirely in each other’s company, only apart when one or other of the children needed one of them. They had talked a great deal, had come to know each other far better than they had before, and - well, other things, too, and Bard could not quite help his smile as he thought of them. They were well-suited, he thought, and he was confident now that this would last, it was not some flash-in-the-pan whirlwind romance. Tilda’s question from that first breakfast came back to him, about whether they would be married, and Bard thought that one day, if Thranduil was willing, he would like that very much, although he did not think he wanted to do such a thing while they would have to be apart for much of the time. But perhaps one day, when he had been able to stand down, when Sigrid and Bain and Tilda were old enough to run Dale without him, he was already thinking that he would very much like to come and live here in the Woodland Realm with Thranduil, for however much time he had left to him. 

He smiled again, and Thranduil glanced at him, his eyes filling with warmth as he saw Bard’s smile.

“What are you thinking of, meleth-nín?” he murmured, and Bard shook his head, he was not quite ready to broach the subject of his thoughts, not just yet. 

“Only what a wonderful time we’ve had,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“No need to thank me,” said Thranduil. “You have brought more joy to these halls in this last month, you and your family, than has been felt here in a thousand years. It is I who should thank you.”

“We could argue about that till the cows come home,” said Bard, resting his hand on Thranduil’s thigh under the table. “But let’s not. I just want to enjoy the rest of the time I have here with you.”

Thranduil covered Bard’s hand with his own, interlacing their fingers. “Let us not argue, indeed,” he said. “I can think of far more pleasant things to do, although most of them will have to wait until after we have finished dinner and put the children to bed.” There was a note of dark amusement in his voice, and Bard could not help the shiver that ran across his skin at the sound of it. 

“So can I,” he said, hoping he was not showing his feelings upon his face to all the Woodland Realm. “But in the meantime -“

“In the meantime you both have to behave yourselves,” said Sigrid, leaning across the table to fix the pair of them with a stern look, although the corners of her lips were twitching in amusement. 

“Nobody said we were going to do anything else,” said Bard, and Sigrid rolled her eyes. 

“If we weren’t at dinner you’d be making your excuses and sneaking off now,” she said, the smile threatening to break through. “You keep _looking_ at each other. It’s adorable, but I don’t really want to have to think about it.”

Bard opened his mouth, and then closed it again, realising that he had no idea what to say to that. Thranduil, however, was not so discomfited.

“I do not believe that word has ever been applied to me before,” he said calmly. 

“Well, no,” said Sigrid, “and I don’t think anyone else would see it, and they certainly wouldn’t say it. But I see it, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me.” She paused, and grinned. “As long as I don’t have to think too hard about it.”

“Well, it isn’t anything you should have to think about,” Bard pointed out, “and if you are having to think about it, then maybe we’ve not been as careful as we thought.”

Sigrid shook her head. “No, you’ve been incredibly proper about it, all the time. I just - well, I’m not a child, any more, Da, I know things.”

“When did that happen, I’d like to know,” Bard said, and Sigrid grinned. 

“You know what it was like in Lake-town, Da. Difficult not to hear things when people were talking about them. And don’t worry, I’ve no desire to go doing any of that, before you have to go making this conversation any more awkward than it already is.”

Bard blinked, searching for something to say. “Well, I’m pleased to hear it,” he managed eventually, and Sigrid rolled her eyes again.

“Good. Anyway, it’s not me we’re talking about here, it’s you two.”

“Do we have to?” asked Bard, belatedly realising that Thranduil was almost shaking next to him with suppressed laughter. “Can we not just stop talking and go back to enjoying our dinner?”

“I would like nothing more,” said Sigrid. “Although I don’t think you two really are enjoying your dinner, are you?” She gave them another of her significant looks, and Bard glanced at Thranduil, then back at Sigrid. 

“I think we’re enjoying it just fine,” he said, and Sigrid rolled her eyes yet again.

“Give over, Da. What you’re doing, the pair of you, is wasting time on your last evening together, for the sake of _appearances_. Do you know what I think?”

“No, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil, his laughter almost completely suppressed, “but I think you are going to tell us, are you not?”

“Obviously,” said Sigrid, “since you’re both too dense to think of it yourselves. I think you two should just go and spend that time together now, instead of wasting it. I can put those two to bed,” she gestured at Bain and Tilda, who were now deep in a discussion with Tauriel and Feren about the Dwarves, “and we can see you in the morning.”

Bard looked at her, then at Thranduil; he was tempted, very tempted, but - to get up and leave, with Thranduil, in front of the entire Woodland Realm - he was not sure they could do that.

Thranduil looked as though he was thinking about it, too, but Bard found he could not quite voice any of the things on the tip of his tongue. 

“Come on, Da,” said Sigrid, “what do you care what anyone thinks? I know Ada doesn’t give a fig.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “It is true, the opinions of my people mean very little to me,” he said. “Especially when it comes to this.”

“And if anyone can leave your own official function, it’s you,” said Sigrid, grinning, “because you’re the King.”

“You are quite right, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil. “I do believe I have had quite enough of this _terribly dull_ official function, and I find I must speak with my Lord of Dale in private upon a matter of extreme urgency.” The laughter was still underlying in his voice and Bard couldn’t help a chuckle of his own. 

“You’ve completely outmanoeuvred us, sweetheart,” he said to Sigrid, who was grinning with extreme satisfaction. “Are you sure you don’t want to be Lady of Dale now?”

“Quite sure,” she said. “Go on with you.”

Bard looked at Thranduil. “Shall we?” He was on the verge of pushing his chair back when a thought occurred to him. “You’re not going to make an announcement or anything, are you?”

“Why?” asked Thranduil, looking deeply amused, “would you like me to?”

“Not at all,” said Bard, quickly and emphatically. “I would really like to say goodnight to my children and then just slip away, if you don’t mind.”

Thranduil laughed. “Then that is what we will do. Children, your father and I have a great deal to talk about before you all leave tomorrow, so we are going to go and do that now, but you must promise me that you will enjoy the rest of the evening twice as much for us, and we will see you at breakfast.”

“All right, Ada,” said Tilda, as Sigrid covered her mouth against a thoroughly undignified snort of laughter at Thranduil’s calm statement of the facts - or most of them, in any case. “'Night, Da, ‘night, Ada. Sleep well!”

“We will, kitten,” said Bard, trying his best to keep a straight face. “We’ll see you for breakfast, all right?”

“See you at breakfast,” said Bain, blithely unconcerned. “Have a good talk.”

“I am sure we will,” said Thranduil calmly. “Feren, Tauriel, I am sure the children will behave for you. Sigrid has kindly offered to see them into bed at the end of the evening, but perhaps you might like to escort them back to their chambers?”

“Of course, my lord,” said Feren, not betraying what he was thinking upon his face, for which Bard was very grateful. 

“It will be our pleasure, of course, Adarhanar,” said Tauriel, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “We will see you in the morning.”

“Behave yourselves, you two,” Bard said to Bain and Tilda. “Good night, and sleep well when you get there.”

“We will,” said Tilda brightly. 

“Good girl,” said Bard, getting out of his seat so that he could move around the table to give Tilda and Sigrid each a goodnight kiss, and ruffle Bain’s hair. Thranduil followed him, resting a hand on Bain’s shoulder for a moment, then Tilda’s, then Sigrid’s, murmuring the blessing he always gave them for quiet sleep and sweet dreams. And then they were away, Thranduil’s hand in the small of his back guiding him off the dais, through the door, along the corridor and away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> adarhanar: uncle (my own construction; literally: father-brother)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.
> 
> This story is now up to 50 chapters and over 100k words! I definitely didn't expect this when I started writing back at the end of June :D I still have plenty of ideas and plans, and there is LOTS more to come. That said, I haven't had as much time for writing just recently (I'm working full-time and studying part-time), and I've almost run out of pre-written chapters. So after 50 chapters of posting every day, the posting schedule on this story is going to move to once every two or three days - and if I manage to get ahead again, we'll go back to daily posting. Thank you all for your comments and kudos and support - I appreciate it all more than I can put into words. <3333333


	51. Revolutionary Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil sneak away from the feast, get a little distracted in the corridor, attempt to come up with a way to spend more time together, and...finally make their way to Thranduil's chambers.

Bard sighed with relief as they made their way along the corridor towards Thranduil’s chambers, although it turned into a helpless laugh as it made its way out of his mouth. “I’m not sure if I’m more relieved to be out of the way of all those people, or out of that conversation with Sigrid,” he said. “I did not expect to have to talk about that with her over the dinner table.”

“She is growing up,” said Thranduil, “and there is no point pretending to her. You are right that she does not need to be thinking about it, but that she knows, accepts it and approves, that is good, is it not?”

“I think it is,” said Bard. “I still feel like she’s the parent and I’m the child all of a sudden.”

“And she has given us her permission to sneak away, has she not?” There was a smile in Thranduil’s voice, and Bard knew that he, too, was thinking back to the conversation they had had in Dale - a lifetime ago, it felt like, now.

Bard laughed again. “I suppose she has. And here we are, sneaking away to be together.”

“Here we are together,” said Thranduil, stopping in his tracks and backing Bard against the corridor wall. “Completely alone.”

“So we are,” said Bard. “Until one of your sentries comes patrolling, anyway.”

“They are all trained to ignore me,” said Thranduil, placing his hands one on either side of Bard’s head, “unless commanded otherwise, so by extension they will also ignore you.”

“Well then,” said Bard, a little breathlessly, “I suppose we could begin our very important discussion here, although I think we should continue it in your chambers.”

“You do not wish to complete our negotiations here, in the corridor?” said Thranduil, his voice deep, almost purring, and Bard felt himself blushing scarlet. 

“Rather be behind closed doors, if you don’t mind,” he said after a moment, when he could get his voice to work. 

“Very well,” said Thranduil, “very well, but perhaps you will not mind if I begin proceedings out here,” and he stepped closer, more or less pinning Bard to the wall, and leaned in to kiss him hard. 

“I think I could be persuaded,” gasped Bard against his mouth, his hands going round Thranduil’s waist and pulling him closer. 

“Then I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil, kissing him again, “for I find I cannot wait any longer to begin this most important discussion, even if we must move it elsewhere before too long.”

“Mmmh,” said Bard, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the wall, “yes, I think you’re right, we should at least…start the initial…discussion…at once…” He trailed off as Thranduil began to work his way along his jaw and down his neck, fingers fiddling with the buttons at the neck of his tunic.

“I wish to commit every inch of your skin to memory,” murmured Thranduil, “to sustain me until Midsummer when I may hold you again. The months will be long without you.”

“Not as long as the winter, though,” said Bard, “nor as dark.” He drew in a gasp. “We’ll have to - oh - we’ll have to make sure we can see each other often, somehow. I can’t bear the thought of going too long without you.”

“If I knew my realm could go on without me, I would come to Dale with you,” said Thranduil, raising his head to look Bard in the eyes. “But I am paying the price for my long centuries of isolation. I have no advisers, nobody I would trust to handle things in my absence, even for the short time it will take for Sigrid to grow ready to take up the reins of leadership.”

“A short time,” said Bard, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “it’ll be five years or more. But I suppose that is a short time, for you.” He raised a hand, traced a finger across Thranduil’s lips. “Could Feren not stand in for you?”

“Feren is a valuable soldier, and a fine lieutenant, but he is no politician,” said Thranduil. 

“I think you might underestimate him,” said Bard. “Not that I’m telling you what to do with your realm, but -“

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “I have barely left my realm in a thousand years. The longest I have been away was the month I spent in Dale last year.”

“Well, it’s just a suggestion,” said Bard, with a half-smile. “But it seems to me that extraordinary events are really very rare here. And perhaps, if you felt like spending a longer time away, at any point, your people might be able to behave themselves in your absence.”

“Next you will be telling me that they do not need a King to keep them in order,” said Thranduil, steel and amusement warring in his tone. “Such revolutionary ideas might work in Dale, but I will not have them here.”

“Not at all,” said Bard. “What works in Dale would not work here, I am sure. I’m just saying that if ever you felt able to take longer away from your people, you’d be more than welcome in Dale. With me.”

“I will think about it,” said Thranduil. “I must confess that the idea of not having to be apart from you is a very attractive one.”

“It is,” said Bard. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and really I’ve only just thought of it, I haven’t thought it through. But it would be - it would be wonderful, if I didn’t have to keep saying goodbye to you.” He let his eyes slip closed for a moment, leaning in for a kiss. “But for now, we do have to say goodbye tomorrow, and I would really rather like to go to your bedroom and - and make up for the time we’re going to have to be apart.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil, arching forwards against him for a moment, pinning him firmly to the wall and then stepping back, placing his hands at Bard’s waist and pulling him forward. “To my chamber we shall go, and then - well,” he smiled. “Then we shall see.” He slid an arm around Bard’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Bard settled his arm about Thranduil’s waist as they made their way along the corridor, their steps rather quicker than before, more urgent. 

They swept past the sentry at the entrance to the corridor leading to Thranduil’s private chambers, and soon enough Thranduil was pushing open the door to his rooms, shoving it wide and then pushing it closed after them. On they went, through the sitting room and the study, into the bedroom, and when they got there Thranduil closed the door firmly and then backed Bard against it, kissing him hungrily, his fingers at the fastenings of Bard’s tunic. 

“I do not believe we should waste a single moment,” he murmured against Bard’s lips, “not even one.”

“Not one,” echoed Bard, already undoing the clasps that fastened Thranduil’s robe and pushing it back off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with an audible swish of fabric. Below that was his tunic, more clasps, layers of the finest cloth and all of them most frustratingly in the way. “You are wearing entirely too much,” he muttered, and Thranduil laughed. 

“I could say the same to you,” he said, and Bard growled softly, arching forward and pushing himself off the door, making Thranduil step back half a step.

“Well, I can’t take anything off if I’m leaning back against the door,” he said, popping open the rest of the decorative clasps all the way down the front of Thranduil’s tunic and pushing that back off his shoulders as well, then grasping the hem of his own tunic and pulling it up over his head; he had enjoyed the fine clothing, he thought distractedly, but he was not going to be entirely sorry to be going back to his ordinary clothes on his return to Dale.

There - that was better, down to undershirts and leggings and boots, although of course Thranduil’s undershirt was laced and fastened and - Bard did not quite dare to tear the thing off him, but he undid the laces with slightly less care than the beautiful garment probably deserved, and then shoved it up until Thranduil grasped it and pulled it over his head, then yanked at Bard’s shirt; Bard raised his arms before the fabric could rip, and then all that was left to them was leggings and boots. 

“Bed,” he said, smoothing his hands down over Thranduil’s chest, his torso, spreading and flexing his fingers over the finely-defined muscles and pushing him backwards across the room. 

“And am I keeping my boots on?” purred Thranduil, a laugh in his voice, and Bard paused to consider for a moment, flicking his eyes up and down his lover’s body, his long, glorious legs.

“Hmm,” he said. “Not this time, I think. Save them for next time,” he grinned. 

“Next time,” Thranduil echoed, and he sat down on the edge of the bed to undo the laces at the backs of his boots and then ease the boots down and off; Bard stopped to watch him, his own boots forgotten for the moment. 

He knew that Thranduil was watching him from beneath his eyelashes, but he could not help staring as Thranduil pulled first one boot and then the other off, the soft leather that fitted his legs like a second skin sliding slowly down to expose long, toned calves and slender, elegant feet and - Bard caught his breath, he did not know why he found Thranduil’s boots so attractive, but he _did_.

“Come here,” murmured Thranduil, reaching out one hand to take him by the wrist and pull him closer, until Bard was standing up against the bed between Thranduil’s thighs, and Thranduil’s fingers were fluttering over the fastenings of his leggings, making his breath catch again. He rested his hands on Thranduil’s bare shoulders, gently pushing his long hair back, out of the way, and closed his eyes for a moment, just committing everything to memory. This would be the last night they would spend together for three months or so, and he wanted to remember every single second for as long as he could, to sustain him through his loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.
> 
> Going to try for posting on Wednesdays and Sundays for a bit - let's see how it goes!


	52. I Do Not Want To Hide From You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil gives Bard something to remember when they are apart - and rakes up some old memories of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a bit more rating-earning. :D

Thranduil looked up at Bard and saw that his eyes were closed, a soft, wondering smile upon his lips.

“What are you thinking about, meleth-nín?” he asked, leaning forward to brush his mouth over the bare skin above Bard’s hipbone, darting his tongue out to taste; salt, and herbs from the soap he had been using, and the warm, woodsmokiness that was just _him_.

“Only that I don’t want to go,” said Bard ruefully, his eyes fluttering open again to meet Thranduil’s gaze, “and that I’m trying to remember all of this so I can think of you when I’m back in Dale.”

“I will give you plenty of things to remember,” murmured Thranduil, drawing the tip of his tongue across the base of Bard’s stomach, dipping just beneath the waistline of his leggings, listening to Bard’s sharp intake of breath and smiling to himself against his skin and the soft fabric. He took the end of the laces fastening Bard’s leggings between his teeth and tugged gently until the carefully-tied bow came undone, revelling in Bard’s surprised exclamation, then hooked the tip of his tongue under the lacing, pulling it up until he could grasp it between his teeth and pull it loose, working his way down eyelet by eyelet until the laces were all undone and Bard’s fingers were gripping tightly onto Thranduil’s shoulders, his arousal hard against Thranduil’s mouth.

“Much more of that and my knees are going to go,” said Bard somewhat breathlessly, and Thranduil chuckled, peeling the now thoroughly unlaced leggings apart to free him and blowing a stream of air across him. 

“I will hold you up, meleth-nín,” he said, sliding one arm around the back of Bard’s thighs and wrapping the other hand around his hipbone, fingers spread wide as he drew his tongue up the length of Bard’s arousal. “You are always safe with me.”

“I know,” said Bard, still breathless, his voice hitching, bracing himself firmly against Thranduil’s shoulders. “I could just do without…collapsing on you, that’s all.”

“Do not worry,” Thranduil murmured, taking him into his mouth and humming in amusement as Bard whimpered softly. He would cherish every moment of this, and it would sustain him until Midsummer, every moment, every soft cry, the scent and the taste and the feel of him, he would hold them in his mind and keep them close and they would comfort him in his isolation.

He took his time, very slowly and carefully, letting Bard slip almost entirely from his mouth, curling his tongue around his head and then taking him back in, all the way, drinking in the sounds Bard was making, increasingly incoherent and abandoned. He would never tire of this, he thought, making this beautiful, conscientious, _good_ man entirely forget his cares and responsibilities and give himself over entirely to the pleasure Thranduil could bring him. 

Slow as he was, he could feel the tension building within Bard’s body, could hear him inching closer to the edge, and he hummed softly around him, hollowing his cheeks to suck a little harder, curling his fingers to press more firmly into Bard’s skin, encouraging him to let go; Bard knew by now that Thranduil needed no warning, would take what Bard gave him and delight in it. He had come to know the signs, in any case, the telltale quickening in Bard’s breathing, the tightening of his muscles, the increasingly frantic tone of his voice, the way he was digging his fingers into Thranduil’s shoulders and trying _so_ hard not to arch his hips forward, no matter that Bard knew that Thranduil absolutely did not mind, that he liked it when Bard forgot himself, let himself go entirely; Thranduil thought it was endearing, how careful Bard was with him. He glanced up; Bard’s eyes were closed, his head bowed, his eyes closed and his hair falling across his face, his lips parted and his breathing ragged as he hung on to the last shreds of his control. 

Thranduil eased back, just enough to allow him to speak. “Let go, meleth-nín,” he murmured, “let go,” and then he took Bard back in, drew him in and held him close and waited for the moment when Bard finally lost the last of his restraint, there, _there_ it was, and Bard was shuddering, gasping, crying out and Thranduil held him close and swallowed him down and engraved it all upon his memory.

“My knees really are going to go,” gasped Bard after a few moments, and Thranduil laughed softly, moving back to look up at him. 

“Then come here,” he said, smoothing his hand over the mattress next to him. “Sit down, take off your boots, and those leggings.” He pulled at the leggings, beginning to peel them down, and Bard gave a rather unsteady laugh and sat down, kicking his boots off and shoving the leggings the rest of the way off, leaving them in a heap on the floor at the end of the bed. 

“You - oh, I don’t know,” he said, collapsing to lie on his back on the bed, looking up at the canopy with a long sigh. “How do you _do_ that?”

“Do what?” Thranduil asked, leaning back to rest on his elbows, looking down at Bard with an amused, affectionate smile. 

“ _That_ ,” said Bard. “You - somehow you know _exactly_ what to do to make me feel - I haven’t the words.”

Thranduil reached over to smooth a few strands of hair out of Bard’s face. “It is my pleasure and my privilege,” he said. “To make you forget your cares, even for only a few moments, and to give you something to remember when those cares threaten to overwhelm you again.” He grinned. “Besides, it is something I enjoy very much.”

“Well, then,” said Bard, laughing breathlessly, “you’ll find no complaints here.”

“I am glad,” said Thranduil, lying back beside Bard, his fingers coming up to flutter over his left cheek; his injury was aching more than usual, and he had to admit to himself that irritating it from the inside was probably not the most sensible thing to do. Not that such things usually irritated it; the damage was much less severe on the inside, for the skin and muscle of his face had taken the brunt of the dragonfire, though in places his cheek was burned right through.

“Are you all right?” asked Bard quietly, and Thranduil glanced at him to see that he had raised himself on one elbow and was looking down at him, concern in his eyes. 

“I am fine,” he said. “My injury is…a little more painful than usual all of a sudden. I am -“ he broke off, not entirely sure what he was going to say; this was not what he had envisaged for this evening.

“Is there anything I can do?” Bard’s voice was full of compassion, and Thranduil found he could not quite bear to look at him. 

“There is nothing,” he said. “Sometimes it is painful and other times I can barely feel it. The glamour can only do so much, and the rest is - incurable.”

“Oh,” said Bard, reaching over very tentatively to smooth a strand of hair away from Thranduil’s face. “I’m sorry, love. Did I - I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Thranduil shook his head. “No, it was not you, meleth-nín. Sometimes - sometimes it is like this, that is all.”

“What happened to you?” Bard murmured. “You don’t have to tell me, only - I don’t know, if telling me might help?”

“A long time ago, there was a battle,” said Thranduil, closing his eyes, trying not to remember everything, only to recall enough to tell the story. “The Enemy had dragons at his disposal, and I - faced one of them. Its fire caught me in the face before I could raise my shield.” He sighed. “Another reason, I suppose, why I was reluctant to help the Dwarves of Erebor, when the dragon attacked Dale.”

“And how long - how long have you had to live with this - this pain?” Bard’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, and Thranduil opened his eyes almost despite himself, to see the concern and the compassion and the _love_ upon his face.

“I no longer remember,” he said. “I was much younger than I am now, but beyond that - I try not to remember it.”

“I’m sorry, love,” said Bard. “To make you think of it again. But - thousands of years, you’ve had to live with it? Is there truly nothing that can be done?”

“Nothing that has not already been done for me,” said Thranduil. “Elrond of Imladris treated my wounds, and he is the greatest healer this side of the Sea. Then he and Mithrandir wove the glamour that hides the scars, and taught me to maintain it. I have learned to bear the pain when it flares.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Bard, leaning over and very carefully brushing a kiss over Thranduil’s forehead. “If there was something I could do about it, I would, but I’m just - well, I have nothing I can offer you.”

“You are here,” said Thranduil, “and that is more than enough. You are here and you understand. Do you think I have not noticed that ever since I told you about my injury, in my tent in Dale, not once have you touched the left side of my face, not even when you are distracted, not even when you are _asleep_? I could not have asked for such consideration, and yet you grant it to me anyway, without question.”

“I’m not going to touch you somewhere that hurts you,” said Bard, his voice low and urgent. “I won’t cause you pain.”

“I know,” said Thranduil, turning his head a little so that he could look Bard properly in the eyes. “And I am more grateful for it than I could ever tell you. You are a good man, Bard of Dale, better by far than any other I have met, certainly better than me.” He sighed, a little unsteadily. “Part of me wants to show you my scars, because you have been so understanding and it is not fair of me to keep hiding from you that which I have not even had to ask you to avoid. And part of me is afraid that if I show you, it will change how you see me.”

“Nothing could change how I see you,” said Bard, that urgency still burning in his voice. “I don’t care what you look like under - under that,” he fluttered his fingers over Thranduil’s face. “As far as I’m concerned you’re the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes upon, you are my beloved and you have taken me and my family into your heart and I love you with all of mine. And no scars will change my opinion of you. I will swear it to you if you want me to.” He took a long, deep breath. “And you don’t have to show me, if you don’t want to. I don’t need to see. Especially not if - if the glamour shields you from the pain and dropping it will make it hurt worse.”

“I cannot lower it for more than a few seconds,” said Thranduil, “for the pain would be too great to bear, but I can - I can show you for a moment. But I must warn you, it is not a pleasant sight.”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t care what you look like,” said Bard. “And it’s your decision. If you don’t want to, then don’t, and we’ll say no more about it.”

“I think I do want to,” said Thranduil. “If only because I do not want to hide from you any more.” He drew in a deep breath, and his hand found Bard’s, lacing their fingers together, and then he let the glamour fade, keeping his gaze fixed to Bard’s as his scars appeared and the pain rose to become almost unbearable, not just the ruin of the left side of his face but the trail of gradually lesser, silvered scars down his neck and across his chest and shoulder; if horror or revulsion or disgust were to appear in Bard’s eyes then he wanted to see it, he wanted to know, and then he would retreat and mend his heart in silence. 

But he saw none of those things, he realised, only sorrow, and love, and reflected pain, and as he rebuilt the glamour and the agony faded away to a dull, familiar ache, his scars disappearing again beneath his perfect, illusory skin, Bard leaned down to rest his forehead very gently against Thranduil’s, his eyes closed, and Thranduil felt the slightest hint of wetness upon his cheeks.

“Oh, love,” Bard whispered, “you have suffered so much, you’re still suffering now, and I didn’t even know. I’m so sorry.” He raised his head to look down at Thranduil, and yes, his lashes were wet, and Thranduil’s heart turned over in his chest. “How could you ever think I would see you differently because of that?”

Thranduil closed his eyes; the raw pain in Bard’s gaze was almost more than he could bear. “It is an horrific sight,” he said, a little unsteadily. 

“It’s a war wound and a badge of honour,” Bard said hotly. “To have survived that and still be standing, even after everything else you’ve suffered, so many thousands of years later - I cannot even begin to imagine the strength it must have cost you. If it didn’t cause you pain I’d - I’d say don’t hide it, not for me, but I won’t have you putting yourself through more than you need to.”

“The Eldar have a less than tolerant relationship with the imperfect,” said Thranduil, his eyes still closed. “Not so much my people, but those with whom I had to ally myself, then - they are not so forgiving. The Orcs were Elves once, those who were less than perfect, those who were injured. The glamour served me more than one purpose, in those days. Now it is one more thing behind which I hide myself.” He opened his eyes to see Bard’s confused, almost horrified expression, and shook his head. “I was not in danger from my own people,” he said, “but there were others who would have taken a different view. Elrond and Mithrandir helped me until I could help myself, and for that I - still owe them a debt.” The words felt like stones in his mouth, a heavy thing to have to admit, but to Bard, who understood him almost without need for explanation, somehow it was easier. 

“Well, I’m glad they did, then,” said Bard. “And I’m glad it takes away the pain, though I can see there’s - well, I suppose there wouldn’t be much else to be done. And that grieves me, that I can’t help you, even though I know you’re used to it by now.” He paused, drawing the flat of his palm over the left side of Thranduil’s face, an inch or so from the skin, like a blessing, somehow, Thranduil found himself thinking. “I suppose you’re blind, in that eye?” he asked after a moment, tentatively, diffidently.

“I am,” said Thranduil; there was no point in denying it. “I have learned to compensate, although there are some things that I miss unless I turn my head.” A thought appeared in his head and he had to smile. “Do not tell Tilda, for I fear she will take shameless advantage of it.”

Bard chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t, and I’ve had at least one conversation with her about not taking advantage of how much you like her, in any case. Although more because I think it’d worry her; you know she adores you, and she’d hate to think of you being in pain.” He kissed Thranduil’s forehead. “We’ll keep it between us. I don’t suppose you’ve told many people about it, anyway.”

Thranduil let out a breath, halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “As a general rule I do not mention it, for I do not think it is anyone’s business but mine. But I did show Thorin Oakenshield, last year, when he and his company came blundering into my forest. I wanted to prove the point I was making about the folly of waking the dragon in the mountain, but I do not think he had the wit to take heed of my warning. In any case, he ignored me, and woke the dragon, and I do not need to tell you what happened after that.”

Bard chuckled ruefully. “No, you don’t. ‘The Lake shall shine and burn,’ indeed. I still wonder that I survived, much less managed to kill the beast.”

“You do yourself a disservice,” said Thranduil. “You did what your ancestor could not, and you saved a great many of your people, though you could not save them all. And who knows where it might have gone next; all of Middle-Earth might have burned, but you stopped it in its tracks.” He took another deep breath. “But this is not how I planned to spend this last evening with you, although I am glad that I have been able to be honest with you, and show you the worst of the secrets that I am hiding.”

“All in good time,” said Bard, with a smile, “and I’m happy if you’re happy. Although I think I could maybe make you happier, if you wanted me to, after all that.” His smile became a grin, dark and mischievous, and Thranduil laughed, pulling him down for a kiss. 

“I would like that very much indeed, meleth-nín,” he murmured into Bard’s mouth, “very much indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Mariel12 asked a few chapters ago whether Thranduil might one day show Bard his scars, which gave me the idea for this chapter. Thank you Mariel12 - this is for you!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	53. You, Me and a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard takes care of Thranduil, and discovers that they have something in common that he did not know of before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they earn us our rating again, bless them.

Bard closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on nothing but making sure Thranduil could feel the depth of his love for him in his kiss, soft and searing and _true_. Thranduil’s scars were horrific, yes, but Bard was not repulsed, far from it; he was deeply saddened that his lover had had to bear such pain alone for so long, but he was also possessed of a new respect for Thranduil, that he never showed even a flicker of an indication of the pain he was in. Bard could not imagine how he did it.

But enough of that, he thought, shifting to kneel astride Thranduil’s hips, tonight was for making the most of each other, giving each other memories to tide them over until Midsummer. He already knew every inch of Thranduil’s skin - more so, now, he thought - but he was determined to commit it all to memory again, how it felt under his fingers and his lips and his tongue, soft and smooth and perfect, and the hard muscle beneath, as he worked his way lower, across sculpted chest and taut stomach, lower, till he came to the waistband of Thranduil’s leggings, remembering with a soft laugh that they had never quite got round to taking them off. 

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he said, resting his palm over the fastenings, smiling to hear the helpless hitch in Thranduil’s breath, feeling him fill his hand. 

“Might I then suggest that you do something about it?” said Thranduil, a laugh in his voice but a darkness also, the beginnings of something much deeper. 

“Your wish is my command, then,” said Bard, grinning, and he pulled at the laces, tugging at the fabric. “Up,” he said, and Thranduil obediently raised his hips to let him pull the leggings down, and then they were off and away, dumped over the end of the bed and Bard returned his attention to the base of Thranduil’s stomach, his sharp hipbones, lower, lower, tracing his fingers along the crease at the top of Thranduil’s thigh and then down between his legs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his arousal and drinking in the sound Thranduil made as he did it, halfway between a moan and a whimper. 

“Meleth-nín,” whispered Thranduil after a moment, “meleth-nín, I need you.”

“You have me,” said Bard, crawling back up over him, hearing the sudden unsteadiness in Thranduil’s voice and reasoning that dropping the glamour and revealing his scars had taken more of a toll on him than he had expected. “I’m yours. Whatever you want, or need, I’ll do anything.” He leaned down to press a kiss to Thranduil’s lips, and Thranduil wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close and tangling his legs with Bard’s, holding him tight. 

“I need to feel you, all of you,” murmured Thranduil, “I need -" He broke off, closing his eyes, the faintest line appearing between his eyebrows; he looked - frustrated? pained? lost? Bard wasn’t sure.

“Not to have to be in control for a while?” ventured Bard after a moment, reasoning from the evidence available to him. “To be taken care of, for a moment or two?”

“Yes,” came the answer, sounding as though Thranduil was reluctantly wrenching the word out from somewhere deep inside him. 

“I can do that, love,” said Bard. “Let me take care of you.” He reached over to the table beside the bed and pulled the drawer open, feeling inside for the small glass bottle it contained, bringing it back out, curling his fingers around it to warm it a little. He rolled his hips downwards and Thranduil gasped, eyes closed, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and Bard kissed him again, nudging Thranduil’s lip out from between his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Don’t hurt yourself, love,” he whispered, “let me look after you. Let me give you something better to think about than dragons and pain.”

He shifted a little so that he could prop himself up on one elbow, opening the bottle and pouring some of the contents onto his fingers, smoothing it over them so that they were completely coated, well oiled and slick, and then he trailed his hand down the length of Thranduil’s body, nudging him to draw his knees up and tracing back down between his legs, stroking gently, still kissing him all the time, softly, deeply, hoping to reassure him, give him what he needed to put himself back together again. He kept stroking, very gently at first, then a little more firmly, a little more, coaxing Thranduil to relax very gradually, until he was able to slip the tip of his finger inside, then a little further, a little further, crooking his finger and reaching up for the place he knew was there, he had come to know its location intimately over the past month, _there_ it was, Thranduil cried out into his mouth and he swallowed it down, took it into himself to keep.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered, “that’s it,” and he slipped another finger inside, stroking carefully still, feeling Thranduil beginning to relax a little more, drinking in his soft, helpless cries; he wanted to undo Thranduil completely, bit by bit, make him let go of _everything_ for a little while and just feel how all-consuming was Bard’s love for him.

Eventually, though, he himself was beginning to feel as though he needed more, and from the way Thranduil was arching under him he thought that the feeling was probably mutual. Carefully he withdrew his fingers, reaching for the vial and more oil, slicking himself and shifting a little until he was nudging gently against Thranduil’s entrance. 

“Ready, love?” he whispered, and Thranduil gasped and nodded. 

“Please,” he murmured, “ _please_ ,” and he arched up, wrapping his legs around Bard’s waist and crossing his heels in the small of his back, drawing him in, slowly, slowly, until Bard came to rest fully sheathed within him with a long, low moan. 

“Oh, love,” Bard half-gasped, “you feel…so…” He hauled in a breath. “How’s that, are you - “

“You are - this is - _perfect_ ,” whispered Thranduil, his voice catching, and Bard pressed their foreheads together as he rolled his hips downwards, breathing raggedly.

“You are _the_ most…” he said, trailing off as he ran out of words, not quite capable of coherent thought any more, “ _oh_ , you are…” and then he gave up, rolling his hips again as Thranduil arched up to meet him and they moved together, slowly, slowly. He leaned down for another kiss, deep and searing, darting his tongue between Thranduil’s lips, shivering at the slide of Thranduil’s tongue against his, the sensations building and building and threatening to overwhelm him already though he was holding on to his control with all that was in him, he did not want it to be over yet, not _yet_ …

“I never want to - to let you go,” whispered Thranduil, so softly that Bard almost did not hear him, “I would keep you with me always.”

“If I could stay for ever, I would.” Bard kissed him again, harder than before, marshalling his thoughts, concentrating hard. “But I’m here now, and every moment we are together…I won’t waste a single one. I will give you so many things to remember when we’re apart. I swear it to you.” He began to move a little faster, gradually increasing his pace and catching his breath when Thranduil matched his movements, bringing him closer to the point of no return, but not _yet_ , he wanted Thranduil completely undone beneath him, wanted him to forget everything except this. 

But there was only so long he could hold on, and he raised his head a little to see that Thranduil was in a similar state, his eyes heavy-lidded and a little out of focus, his breathing uneven and ragged, tiny moaning cries escaping him, and Bard moved a little faster now, wanting to drive him well and truly over the edge. 

It all got a little uncoordinated after that, moving faster and harder, deeper, both of them gasping for breath and frantic, just a little more, a little…more, and…yes, _there_ , Thranduil arched and cried out and tightened around him and Bard tried to ride it out but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, and he only lasted a second or two longer before he too had to let go, falling, falling, with a long, hitching, moaning cry. 

He rested his forehead against Thranduil’s, hauling in breath after breath, shuddering again and again as the last of it rode through him, leaving him utterly spent, but, more importantly, Thranduil, too, looked absolutely undone; his eyes were closed, his lips parted, he was breathless and smiling and completely relaxed.

“There,” murmured Bard, “is that better?”

Thranduil did not reply for a moment, but he leaned up for a kiss, soft and insistent, and Bard thought that was probably answer enough.

“So much better,” whispered Thranduil after a long moment, “I have never…never needed…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath and then another, exhaling in long, contented-sounding sighs. “I have never found myself needing that loss of control before,” he murmured eventually, “but you gave me exactly what I needed. I do not know how to thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” said Bard, “I thoroughly enjoyed myself.” He grinned, and leaned down for another kiss. “And I’m glad you’re feeling better. That can’t have been fun for you, that conversation we just had.”

“It brought back unwelcome memories,” said Thranduil quietly, “but I am glad we spoke of it. I do not have to hide that part of myself from you any more. The physical scars I will keep hidden, but the scars upon my mind, my soul - you know they are there now.”

Bard nodded. “Some things make more sense now. Or rather - I feel like I understand you a little better now. There’s so much about you that I haven’t a hope of ever understanding, but this - this is a little piece of the puzzle.” He paused, smiling ruefully. “Or perhaps not such a little piece. But I’m honoured to have earned your trust, enough for you to feel able to show me this bit of yourself.”

Thranduil smiled faintly. “There is more to me than even I really know, I think, but that comes with living a life as long as I have lived. My memories are deep, laid in many layers, and sometimes I am not certain what is accurate and what is simply the interpretation I have placed upon it. But the dragon - that is clear in my mind, if I allow myself to think of it.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like, to live that long,” said Bard. “But I know what you mean about the dragon. I’m never going to forget that.” He could not quite suppress a shudder at the memory of the fire, the noise, the great beast’s sneering, sibilant voice as it taunted him with his helplessness, threatened him with a terrible, fiery death for his son and then for himself.

“Nor should you,” said Thranduil, “for it will likely be the defining moment of your life. You were different before it, and you are not the same now. Facing a dragon changes you in ways that you do not initially realise or understand, and slaying one leaves its mark upon your soul.”

Bard blinked. “You said you faced a dragon. Did you - do you mean you killed it?”

“I did,” said Thranduil. “I had led a group of my father’s forces, and we had injured it with our arrows, enough to allow us to get close to it, if we were able to avoid its fire. Not all of my soldiers were as fortunate as I.” He closed his eyes, a pained expression flitting across his face. “I was able to get close enough to it to - what did you say about Bain and the Orcs? - ‘stick it with my sword’. I had my shield raised to protect myself, but its head whipped around in its death throes and I was not fast enough to shield my face when it let out its dying breaths.”

“Oh,” said Bard, momentarily stunned. “I - to be so close to one of them, I don’t know - I think I’d have run screaming.”

“Not if the lives of your loved ones and your friends depended upon you,” said Thranduil. “You would have stood strong just as I did. Just as you did in Lake-town. Bain has told me you did not falter even for a moment.”

“Has he, now,” said Bard, faintly.

“He has,” said Thranduil, opening his eyes again, a smile spreading across his face. “He says you were ‘amazing’.”

“He says that about everything,” Bard protested. “I’m beginning to think he doesn’t know any other words.”

“But I am inclined to believe that in this case the word applies,” said Thranduil. “He told me about how the two of you stood upon the ruins of that bell-tower, and though your bow was broken, you jammed the broken pieces into the structure and rested the arrow upon his shoulder and faced down the beast until you could send the arrow flying directly into its weakened breast. You did not falter, you did not hesitate, you did not run. Even when the two of you were nearly cast down into the flames, you stood strong.”

“I had to do what I could,” said Bard. “I had to _try_ , at least.”

“And you did,” said Thranduil. “You tried, and you succeeded. I have long been the only dragonslayer left in Middle-Earth, unless you count the father of Elrond, who is a star. But I find I am not unhappy at sharing the accolade with you.”

Bard frowned in confusion, his brows drawing together. “So it’s you, me, and - a _star_?”

Thranduil laughed softly. “Yes, it is. But Elrond’s father is not important here. I think the Valar had many reasons for bringing us together in the way they did, and this is one of them. I can help you come to terms with the enormity of your deeds, in time, and you - you can help me with mine.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Bard with a smile. “It hasn’t hit me yet, I don’t think, but I’m sure it will, as soon as I haven’t got a thousand and one things to be thinking about.” He let out a long, contented sigh. “But for now, what I think I need most in the world is a bath. With you, I mean.”

Thranduil laughed again. “I think that is a very fine idea, meleth-nín. But you have me in a somewhat compromising position.”

Bard could not help the chuckle that escaped him at that. “Just as you had me in the same compromising position the first time you suggested that bath.” He shifted, reaching into the drawer for a cloth, and withdrew with a sigh, cleaning them up and then collapsing onto his back next to Thranduil. “In a moment. I might have got my breath back but I think my knees might be a little bit too wobbly to get me through there just yet.”

“I am sure I could carry you,” said Thranduil around a bark of highly amused laughter. “But I would not wish to offend your dignity.”

“I think we’ve already established I don’t have much of that, around you,” said Bard, huffing out another laugh. “You undo me completely.”

“The feeling is mutual,” said Thranduil, raising himself up to rest on one elbow as he leaned over and let his hair fall against Bard’s chest. “I have not let my guard down in a thousand years, and yet with you I feel able to let go of it completely. You do not give me much choice, for you are so - you are so completely yourself, and I find it impossible to maintain my walls around you.”

“Well, I’m glad of that,” said Bard. “That you don’t feel you have to hide from me. I want to know all of you, if I can.” He grinned. “Or as much as I can learn in the time I have, given that there’s rather more to you than there is to me.”

“Do not sell yourself short, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil. “There is plenty of you to know and I want to know everything. But perhaps first that bath, if your knees will carry you there?”

Bard stretched. “I think I can manage,” he said, and he swung his feet over the side of the bed, resting them on the floor for a moment before he stood up. “There,” he said, “steady as a rock. Come on, then. Bath.” He padded across the room towards the bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder to see Thranduil following him, a warm smile upon his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	54. Not So Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard take a bath, and talk about Thranduil's general lack of alliances with his fellow Elven realms.

Thranduil followed Bard into the bathroom, watching him unashamedly as he walked, the shift and slide of his muscles under his skin, the faint sheen of sweat across his back; he thought he would never grow tired of the sight. Bard glanced back at him with a grin, and kept moving, stepping down into the pool and ducking himself completely under the water. He came back up again after a moment or two, the water pouring off him, and Thranduil lowered himself into the water, moving to him and pulling him close, not quite able to stay away. He had regained his composure by now, but he found that he still needed the comfort, the reassurance of Bard’s presence close to him, his strength and his compassion and his love.

“I’m going to miss this,” said Bard. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until we can get running water in Dale.” He chuckled a little ruefully. “Although I suppose I ought to see if Dáin will lend me some of his water engineers before the autumn, if I’m to be hosting all you terribly grand Lords and Kings.”

Thranduil chuckled. “As I said, Elrond is an old soldier, and his entourage, too. They are all used to undergoing far harsher conditions than Dale in the autumn, especially considering that you have already managed to make the buildings weatherproof.” He grinned, smoothing some of Bard’s wet hair back over his shoulder. “His chief advisor might have one or two things to say but his bark is worse than his bite. As for the others, his captain has been a soldier throughout two lifetimes, and his sons hunt Orc with the Dúnedain most of the time, so I should imagine even a roof over their heads will be untold luxury to them.”

“With the Dúnedain?” asked Bard. “Did you not say that was where your son had gone?”

“I suppose I did,” said Thranduil. “Although if he is with them still, I do not know.”

“They might have news of him, though,” said Bard, “perhaps they will take a message to him for you.”

“I will not impose upon them,” said Thranduil. “Besides, I would not trust them as far as I could throw them.”

“I see,” said Bard. “Well, I suppose you did say they’re trouble.”

“They can be,” said Thranduil. “When last I met them they were childish, self-absorbed to the point of barely bothering to communicate with anyone else except each other, and tiresomely fond of practical jokes and impertinent questions deliberately intended to cause offence.”

“Oh,” said Bard. “Delightful, then. What are the others like?”

Thranduil snorted. “Elrond - desperately dull and very self-righteous. Glorfindel, his captain, is brash and insufferable, although less so these days than he was in his first life, and Erestor, the chief adviser -“

“Wait, you said ‘first life’?” Bard interrupted. “What does that mean?”

Thranduil sighed. “For my people, if we die, there is the promise of re-embodiment and release from Mandos’ Halls, and then a second, eternal life in the Undying Lands beyond the Sea. But, for reasons known only to the Valar, it seems, Glorfindel was sent back this side of the Sea, after he died quite gloriously and idiotically while fighting a Balrog.”

“Idiotically?” asked Bard, and Thranduil rolled his eyes. 

“By all accounts he was always very proud of his hair - long, golden, beautiful I am sure. As I heard it, he did not tie it out of the way and the Balrog gripped onto it and pulled him off the mountainside as it fell. So they both died, which was entirely unnecessary.”

“Oh,” said Bard. “But - he’s back?”

“He is,” said Thranduil, “and not quite as self-satisfied this time. Possibly because he spends a great deal of time with Erestor, Elrond’s chief adviser, who is certainly wise but is possessed of possibly the sharpest tongue in Middle-Earth.”

“You’re not exactly persuading me that it’s a good idea to invite them all to Dale,” said Bard with a rueful grin.

“They are useful allies to have,” said Thranduil rather airily, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You do not have to like them.”

Bard chuckled. “Do you like _any_ of your allies?”

Thranduil shrugged. “Until last autumn, I did not have allies. I do not like Dáin, but I like you well enough.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Bard, chuckling again. “But, I mean, the other Elven leaders, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel -?”

“What of them? They have their realms, and I have mine. I have not spoken with either of them in centuries, for I have not needed to.”

“Oh,” said Bard, again, apparently somewhat nonplussed. “I supposed I assumed that you were all - well, allies. Being that you’re all Elves, and all.”

“Ah, but we are not all one people,” said Thranduil. “They are of the Noldorin line, favourites of the Valar, subjects of song and story. I am Sindar, and my people are Silvan. The Noldor look down upon us, and always have, but I care not for their scorn; they are the kinslayers, not my people.”

Bard’s eyes were wide and bewildered. “Kinslayers? Lord Elrond and - ?”

Thranduil shook his head. “Not them, but their family. Oaths were sworn over powerful gems - not unlike the Heart of the Mountain, as it happens - and that always leads to slaughter as you well know.”

Bard nodded, looking a little haunted, and Thranduil relented.

“But that is quite enough ancient history for one night,” he said. “I am wasting time, again, when I should be making the most of this last evening with you.” He traced a finger down Bard’s spine, and up again, drawing it through the water on his skin. 

“Well, I don’t mind the history lesson,” said Bard, smiling and tilting his head up, pressing a kiss to the right side of Thranduil’s jaw, smoothing one hand down Thranduil’s arm and twining the ends of his hair around his fingers. “And I like learning about you. But I have to admit, this is nice too.”

Thranduil trailed his hand up Bard’s spine again, curling his fingers around the back of Bard’s neck and burrowing them under his heavy, wet hair, stroking softly. “It is,” he said, “very nice indeed. And I think you should be making the most of the warm water, for who knows when Dáin will agree to lend you his plumbers.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any of those?” Bard asked, a smile in his voice, turning his head to mouth his way along Thranduil’s collarbone, soft lips shielding his teeth, the dart of his tongue and the scratch of his facial hair making Thranduil shiver despite the warmth of the water. “I mean, you have hot water here, after all.”

“These halls were built by the Dwarves, long ago, when my father first brought our people to the Greenwood. Our people were responsible for the craftsmanship, the decoration, but the digging, the hewing, the plumbing, they were all executed by the Dwarves.”

“So I really am going to have to ask Dáin,” said Bard with a rueful chuckle against Thranduil’s skin. “And cross my fingers that he’s feeling cooperative.”

“I am sure that he will acquiesce,” said Thranduil, smiling against Bard’s hair and drawing his fingers up to trace the edge of his ear. “You are very persuasive, meleth-nín, after all. Do not forget that you have persuaded me into an alliance when I have deliberately avoided allying myself with anyone for nearly three thousand years.”

“Yes, but you’re different,” Bard protested. “Besides, it was your idea.”

“Was it?” Thranduil frowned, casting his mind back. “I thought it was yours.”

Bard looked up at him, grinning. “At the memorial, in Dale, you said we needed to band together against the forces of the Enemy. I thought you were right, and so does Dáin, although he’ll never say it in so many words.”

“Ah,” said Thranduil. “So I did.” He laughed. “Never mind me enchanting you, I think you must have enchanted me. I would never have made such a suggestion if I had been - well, I will not say ‘in my right mind’ but rather, in my normal state of mind.”

“I’m beginning to realise that,” said Bard. “Well, perhaps there was a temporary aberration after all, in Dale, but it wasn’t you and me, it was you realising that we all needed to work together.” 

“Not so temporary,” said Thranduil. “I still realise that you are right - and Sigrid. The two of you have made me see that I have isolated myself for too long, and although it has served me well in the past, and would probably continue to do so, I can see that allying myself with you and with Dáin will serve me better in the long term. There is strength in numbers, after all.”

“Exactly,” said Bard. “And as soon as Dale is back on its feet, with Bain in charge of our young soldiers, we’ll be a proper ally rather than the poor relation. Then we’ll be able to help you, if you need it.” He reached up to the back of Thranduil’s head and pulled him down for a kiss. “It might take us a while, but we’ll stand beside Erebor and the Woodland Realm as equals if there’s ever another battle like the one last autumn.”

“I know you will, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil with a smile. “I have underestimated the race of Men, I am now finding. Under the leadership of you and your children, Dale will be a more than worthy ally should the Enemy return.” He kissed Bard again. “But I did not come here to discuss politics with you, just as I did not intend to discuss history.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bard. “I keep talking, and then we keep getting distracted.”

“Perhaps I should make you stop talking,” said Thranduil, quirking an eyebrow, and grinning when Bard’s eyes filled with mischievous amusement.

“Maybe you should,” he said, tangling his fingers in Thranduil’s hair.

“Maybe I shall,” said Thranduil, pushing Bard back towards the seat at the side of the pool, intent on giving them both something else to remember while they were apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	55. Until I Have To Let You Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Bard take one more intimate moment in the bath, before it is time for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they earn us our rating again. (by the way, I am wondering whether that rating should be M rather than E, given that it's all fairly euphemistic and not super-explicit; what do you all think?)

Before he had taken more than a step, Bard was pulling him close, sealing his lips to Thranduil’s in a deep, searing kiss, and with their shared momentum they both went under the water, sinking to the bottom and tangling together in an unexpectedly delicious tangle of limbs, down, down - and then back up, pushing off the bottom of the pool and breaking apart as they surfaced, gasping for breath and laughing.

“Well,” said Thranduil, when he had got his breath back, “that was not what I had in mind, but we do not seem to be wasting our time with politics or history any more.”

“True,” said Bard. “I couldn’t help it, I just wanted to see you wet through, and - and make you laugh. After everything you’ve had to relive tonight, I want to take your mind off it.”

“I can think of one or two other things that might also take my mind off those memories,” said Thranduil, backing Bard towards the seat again, moving with intense purpose all of a sudden. “I hope you have regained your stamina, meleth-nín, for I intend to have my way with you until you cannot move, and then I am going to put you back into my bed and hold you close to me and watch over you while you sleep, until I have to let you go again.”

“I think I can cope,” said Bard, his voice hitching a little, moving backwards towards the step and then grasping Thranduil by the hips, turning both of them around and pushing him to sit down, lowering himself to kneel astride his lap. “I am certainly not going to stop you.”

“So I should hope,” said Thranduil, rolling his hips up and pulling Bard flush against him, “for I do not believe I will show you any mercy.” He glanced round, seeing that the bottle containing the herbal preparation he used to wash his hair was conveniently sitting upon the floor within arm’s reach, and flashed Bard a grin as he stretched to pick it up. 

Bard laughed, tipping his head back in amusement, and Thranduil took the opportunity to lick a trail up his neck. 

“You planned this,” he said, “just as you have planned every last one of the encounters we have had here. How do you always have something for that purpose within reach?”

Thranduil chuckled. “As a matter of fact I did not plan this, not one bit. You are just lucky that I do not have to send you across the room to fetch it.”

“Oh, because you wouldn’t deign to fetch it, I suppose,” said Bard, grinning, and Thranduil grinned back.

“Not at all. After all, you are the one who can stand up easily, from this position.”

“You are absolutely shameless,” said Bard, “and I adore you for it.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “What is the point of shame? It would not get us to where we want to be any more quickly. Speaking of which -“ He opened the bottle and poured some of the liquid onto his fingers; it was made of various plant oils and he thought it would not wash away as soon as he put his hand into the water. He sent his fingers trailing down Bard’s spine and nudged against his entrance, prompting a gasp and then a half-swallowed moan as he began to push one finger inside. Bard arched his back, pushing down, and Thranduil smiled to himself, leaning forward to draw his tongue along Bard’s collarbone, and then working up to the base of his neck, biting gently. 

Bard tipped his head back again, letting out a low moan, and pushed down again as Thranduil crooked his finger to stroke the sensitive spot inside him; this time he cried out, shuddering, and dragged his fingers down Thranduil’s chest, pressing into his skin, scratching as best as his short, clipped nails would allow, wrapping his other hand around Thranduil’s arousal and stroking firmly. 

“I don’t - _ah_! - I don’t know how you do it,” he gasped, “you just have to look at me and I - oh, I’m _undone_. I just - I _want_ you, so badly.”

“Not yet, meleth-nín,” murmured Thranduil, “I will not hurt you. I am going to have you very thoroughly, but not until you are ready.” He slid his finger back a little, just enough to be able to add another, crooking and twisting and stroking, determined to be as thorough about this as everything else. 

“I’m impatient,” said Bard; Thranduil thought he almost _growled_. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, you will have to wait,” said Thranduil, “for I will not hurt you. And besides, tomorrow you will have to sit a horse all day.”

“I don’t care,” said Bard, curling his hand around the back of Thranduil’s head and holding him in place as he kissed him hard. 

“You will tomorrow,” said Thranduil when Bard let him go, “but I think you are more or less ready now.”

Bard let out a moan that was half frustration and half relief, raising himself up on his knees, shifting to position himself and guiding Thranduil into him as he sank down again with a long, gasping cry. Thranduil shuddered, biting his lip against a moan at the sensation of being surrounded, enveloped, _drawn in_ and held close and tight. He was going to miss this, the warmth, the intimacy, all of it…but he would not think of that now.

“Oh, that’s better,” whispered Bard, “I just needed - I need - I need to feel you, and you’re always so…I don’t know, I can never find the right words. Sometimes I think you really have enchanted me, I can’t think of anything except _you_.” He raised himself up a little and then rolled his hips back down again, his breathing ragged and hitching on a low cry.

“The feeling is - _ai_! - entirely mutual, meleth-nín,” gasped Thranduil. “I - you have awoken so many things in me that I thought would lie dormant for ever. Things I thought were lost to me, and I do not only mean this.”

Bard nodded, hauling in a long, deep breath. “Me too,” he said after a moment. “This, but - so many other things, too. I thought…before I met you I thought, this is just my life now, and it was all right, but -“ He broke off, his voice unsteady, and Thranduil smoothed his hands up his back, holding him close.

“I know. Meleth-nín, I know. And we must make the most of this, so it lasts us until Midsummer, do not forget.” He rolled his hips, gently at first and then more deliberately, bucking upwards. “And mindful as I am that you must sit a horse for two days, I find I cannot quite resist the thought of you still being able to feel me when I am no longer with you.”

Bard laughed breathlessly, arching down to meet him. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I like the sound of that. Sitting a horse or not. I’ll smile every time I think of this.”

“As will I,” said Thranduil, moving faster now, thrusting up harder, the water surging around them, “and it will sustain me until Midsummer, I think.”

“It’ll have to,” gasped Bard, “and when I see you again I’ll need you as soon as we can, but - for now - _oh_ \- please, just -“

“Anything,” Thranduil whispered, “for you, meleth-nín, _anything_ ,” and he held Bard close and moved with him, his forehead pressed against Bard’s shoulder and Bard’s lips in his hair, both of them shivering and gasping, edging ever further towards completion, almost - _there_ , Thranduil was not sure who let go first but suddenly they were both shuddering, crying out and clinging onto each other as it tore through them, leaving them both wrung out and collapsed against the side of the pool, gasping for breath. 

“Well,” said Bard somewhat unsteadily after a long moment, “you achieved your goal. I can’t move.”

Thranduil laughed breathlessly. “Neither can I, so I think perhaps we might just stay here for a moment or two.”

“Suits me,” said Bard, leaning in for a slightly clumsy kiss, soft and lingering. “I mean, I’ll have to move eventually, or I’ll never move again, but…just for a moment…” He shifted a little, resting his forehead against Thranduil’s, and breathed in, slowly, deeply. “Just for a moment, this is all I need.”

Thranduil smoothed his hands up Bard’s back, cradling his head and drawing it down to rest upon his shoulder, sifting his fingers through Bard’s wet hair. “For as long as you need,” he murmured, “we will sit here.”

For a long time they rested there, arms around each other, drowsing, drinking each other in, Bard’s fingers twining in Thranduil’s hair as it floated in the water around them, Thranduil idly tracing patterns upon the skin of Bard’s back. This, Thranduil thought, was more than he could ever have expected, a gift he could never have anticipated receiving. He was certain he did not deserve it, but he would not question the Valar, if it were their decision to see that his path crossed with Bard’s at a moment when they were each in need of the other.

Eventually, though, Bard shifted wearily in Thranduil’s lap, raising himself up on his knees and letting Thranduil slide from within him with a regretful sigh. He turned himself round a little stiffly and sat down next to Thranduil, leaning his head on Thranduil’s shoulder. 

“Lovely as this is,” he said, around a yawn, “if I’m not going to fall asleep on you, I think it might be an idea if we go to bed now.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil, quietly amused. “Do you need me to carry you?”

Bard laughed softly. “I think I can walk. I’m just - really very tired. Much as I’d love to stay up all night with you, I’m going to have to sleep for a bit. Otherwise I’ll be falling off my horse tomorrow and everyone is going to know why.”

Thranduil pressed a kiss to Bard’s temple, chuckling quietly. “And we cannot have that. Come, then, let me take you to bed.” He unfolded himself from the seat and stood up in the water, holding his hands out to Bard and pulling him to his feet. They stood in a loose embrace for a moment, and then Thranduil kissed Bard’s forehead and stepped away, leading him by the hand towards the steps. They climbed out of the pool, taking towels from the rail on the wall and wrapping themselves up, drying off as they padded back into the bedroom. 

Thranduil pressed the water out of his hair with the towel, watching as Bard scrubbed his hair dry, though he was careful around the braid that Thranduil had given him. 

“I will give you another of those in the morning,” he said, “one which will last until I see you again.”

“It’s going to drive Dáin mad, you know,” said Bard with a grin. “He’ll know it’s an Elven braid I’m wearing, Elven hair clasps, and he’ll be driving himself insane trying to work out what it means. That or he’ll draw the obvious conclusion and I’ll have to keep a straight face while I look him in the eye and tell him I’ve no idea what he’s talking about.”

Thranduil laughed. “If I am honest, that is a very small part of the reason I wish to do it - driving him mad with curiosity, that is. But the rest is only that I want you to have something of me with you while I cannot be with you myself.”

Bard came to him and took him into his arms. “I know, love,” he said. “I wish I had something I could give you in return.”

“You have already given me everything,” said Thranduil. “I can ask you for nothing more.”

“I’ll think of something,” said Bard. “It won’t be anything much, but I’ll think of something.” He yawned. “But I think I need to sleep on it.”

“Get into bed, then,” said Thranduil, kissing his forehead, “and make yourself comfortable. I will join you in a moment.” He sat in front of the looking glass to comb out his hair, working the oil through it, and smoothing out the last of the wetness. He could just see the corner of the bed in the mirror, and he watched as Bard lay down on the mattress, pulling the covers up to his waist and settling on his side, looking at Thranduil with his heart in his eyes. 

“Don’t be too long, love,” he said. “Or I’ll be asleep before you get here.”

“I will be just another moment,” said Thranduil, running the comb through his hair one last time; yes, that would do. He stood and stretched, and padded over to the bed, stretching out alongside Bard and pulling the covers up around them. 

“That’s better,” said Bard, curling close to him, resting his head on Thranduil’s shoulder and settling his arm across Thranduil’s waist. “Now I really am going to fall asleep on you.”

“That is what I am here for,” said Thranduil. “I will watch over you as you sleep, and I will see you when you wake.”

“Do you - do you ever sleep?” asked Bard around a yawn. “You always seem to be awake when I wake up.”

“Not in the way you understand it,” said Thranduil. “I do not need sleep in the way you do; I rest by drifting in reverie, somewhat akin to your dreams, as I understand it. I am drifting, but my eyes are open and I am at least partially alert. So I will rest, now, and I will dream, but I will still be watching over you.” He brushed a kiss across Bard’s forehead. “Sleep well, meleth-nín.”

“Mmm,” said Bard, “I think I will.” He drew in a long, deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh, and then his breathing slowed gradually until Thranduil was fairly sure he was asleep. He twined a strand of Bard’s hair around his fingers, and gradually he himself slipped into dreams, blissfully happy for now, and not thinking about the sorrow he knew was coming. There would be time enough for that after Bard and his family had left in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> If you're in the mood for something super-sad, the other day I posted a story set long after the end of this one, in which Sigrid and Thranduil mourn Bard together after his funeral; it's called [Never Forgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281602). And if you're in the mood for a super-fluffy canon-mangling happy ending for all concerned, I'm going to start posting the sequel to this story on Friday. Yes, I know, I haven't finished the main story yet, but what the hell, it's fanfiction, there are no rules. :D It has no spoilers to speak of for this story because I'm writing the two simultaneously so I'm finding out what happens as we go along, and it's going to be ludicrously fluffy and happy, and best of all, I am getting to write Auriel and Maudie (the wives, the wives! :D ) at last, and they are enormous fun.
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	56. I Can't Quite Let You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil exchange small keepsakes on their last morning together.

Bard yawned, blinking as he woke up, stretching and turning to see Thranduil smiling down at him.

“Mmm,” he said, “hello.”

“Good morning, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, stroking his hair, and Bard closed his eyes again and smiled. 

“I don’t suppose it’s early, is it?” said Bard, chuckling, and Thranduil leaned down to kiss his forehead.

“I am afraid not,” he said. “It is almost time to fetch the children for breakfast.”

“Damn it,” said Bard, “I was hoping to wake up earlier.”

“But then it might have been more difficult to get out of bed in good time,” said Thranduil with a smile. “Besides, there is nothing we can do about it now. And it will not be so long before I see you again.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard. “And at least it isn’t winter this time. It’ll be easier to bear when I’m not cold and wet and hunched over the fire all the time.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “And you will have a great deal of work to do, of course.”

“I think that’s going to be the story of the rest of my life,” said Bard, shaking his head. “Dale won’t be rebuilt in a day or two, after all. And I suppose you’ll be expecting a comfortable bed and hot and cold running water when you visit at Midsummer.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil with another laugh. “Do not think I will be happy with a tent this time. You were only excused last autumn because you had only just arrived yourself and the city was in ruins.”

“Well, that was very kind of you,” said Bard. “I’ll do my best, although it’ll depend on whether I can get any plumbers out of Dáin. You might have to wait a bit. I also have no idea where we’re going to put you, you certainly won’t fit in the little house we’ve been staying in. It’s full to bursting with the five of us already.”

“Perhaps it is time to begin work on the Lord’s house at the top of the hill,” suggested Thranduil. “You will need to move into it eventually, after all.”

“Not until everyone is safely, comfortably housed,” said Bard firmly. “But I suppose you’re right, it’s a good place to put visiting dignitaries. I’ve only looked at it briefly so far, but I think there’s enough space to put you and your people, and Lord Elrond and his people, and possibly Dáin and his people, although I should imagine they’ll probably want to go back to Erebor for the nights, all things considered.”

“I am sure that will be best for all concerned,” said Thranduil with an amused smile. “But before you can do that, you must get out of bed, and get dressed, and have breakfast with the children and with me.”

“And then go home,” said Bard. “It’s funny, thinking of Dale as home, but that’s what it is, now.”

“It is,” said Thranduil, “and I will see you there soon enough.”

“True,” said Bard. “But just quickly, before we have to go -“ and he pulled Thranduil down into a long, hard kiss. 

“And now,” said Thranduil, eventually, against Bard’s mouth, “we really must go, otherwise the children will be wondering where we are.”

“All right, all right,” said Bard, though he made no move to release Thranduil, or to leave his embrace. “We’re going.”

“I can assure you that we are not,” said Thranduil, kissing him again, and tracing his fingers down the side of Bard’s face. “But we must.”

“I know,” said Bard, “but I can’t do this, with you, out there, can I, and I just - I can’t quite let you go yet.”

“I know, meleth-nín. It is the most difficult thing I have had to do in a while, to let you go. But we must. We each have our duties to attend to. And Midsummer is not so far away.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard, pulling Thranduil into a close, tight embrace for a moment and then resolutely letting him go, rolling over and sliding to his feet. “And I suppose some comfortable clothes for travelling will have magically appeared somewhere in this room,” he said, trying for levity and feeling gratified when Thranduil rewarded him with a soft laugh.

“Look upon the chest in the corner,” he said, and when Bard did so he discovered a pile of clothes neatly folded, all in shades of grey and blue, soft fabrics and less embroidery than the things he had been wearing since he had been here. He dressed quickly, before he thought better of it, and when he turned around again Thranduil was standing before him in a robe as sumptuous as all the others Bard had seen him in, a diadem settled in position upon his perfectly tidy, gleaming hair. 

“How do you do that?” Bard asked, although he was not really expecting a reply. 

“A great many long years of practice,” said Thranduil, an amused smile upon his lips. “Now, I believe I promised you a braid that will last you until I see you again, did I not?”

“You did,” said Bard, “and I will be most honoured to wear it.”

“Sit down before the glass, then,” said Thranduil, and when Bard obeyed, he unravelled the braid that was there, smoothing his fingers through Bard’s hair and then drawing the comb through it carefully, working the tangles out; Bard closed his eyes and lost himself to the sensations, letting his sorrow at leaving melt away. 

Thranduil worked a little of the hair oil through, and then snapped the top clasp back into place and began to weave the braid, murmuring something softly in his own tongue as he did so. Bard was content just to listen to the sound of his voice, the words unfamiliar yet beautiful, and he thought to himself that he would make more effort to find the time to learn a little more Elvish before Midsummer. 

All too soon Thranduil was finishing the braid, snapping the smaller clasp onto the end of it, and settling it back against the rest of Bard’s hair. 

“There,” he said, “that should not unravel before I see you again.”

Bard reached up to run his fingers over the braid; it felt more intricate than the others Thranduil had given him. “Because you put the oil in it?” he asked, turning to look up as Thranduil smiled.

“A little. But I have also woven into it a small enchantment, one which will keep it held in place for as long as it needs to be there.”

“I thought you said you didn’t do magic,” said Bard, a little confused, and Thranduil laughed softly.

“This hardly counts as magic, meleth-nín. It is nothing of the order of the glamour which hides my scars, or the spells which keep my realm safe from the evil of the rest of the forest. It is a simple little thing, hardly anything at all.”

Bard chuckled. “So you really have enchanted me now,” he said, and then a thought occurred to him. “Is that how come your hair is always perfect, no matter what you’ve been doing?” he asked with a grin. “I mean, it always seems to settle exactly where it wants to go.”

“Perhaps,” said Thranduil with a smile. “If I tell you all my secrets I will have no mystery left.”

“I don’t think that’s ever going to happen,” said Bard, laughing properly this time as he got up and turned to wrap Thranduil up in an embrace. “But thank you, anyway. I’ll wear this with pride and honour.” He reached up to trace his fingers over the braid again. “What does this one mean? It feels different to the others you’ve done for me.”

“It means that I love you very deeply, and although we are apart I will hold you in my heart and think of you every moment.” Thranduil’s voice was soft, sad, and Bard tilted his head up so that he could kiss him. 

“I will think of you every moment too,” he said. “I love you _so_ much, and I’m not quite sure how I’m going to manage without you, even for a few months.” A thought came to him then, and he turned to glance at the table, yes, there it was, the long strip of leather he had taken out of his hair on his first morning here, still lying where he had left it in front of the looking-glass. He picked it up, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers. “I wanted to give you something, too, but I haven’t anything to give except this. It isn’t much - it isn’t anything, really, but -“ He took Thranduil’s hand and tied the leather around his wrist, twisting and knotting it so that it formed a simple bracelet, nowhere near as beautiful or ornate as the braid or the hair clasps Thranduil had given him, but he hoped it would suffice.

“I will treasure it,” murmured Thranduil. “It is a comfort to me, to know that I have something of you with me always.”

“I’ll find you something nicer, when I can,” said Bard, “but for now this is all I have.”

“It is all I need,” said Thranduil, brushing a kiss across Bard’s mouth, “but now we must go and fetch the children, for our time is most assuredly running out.”

“Damn it,” said Bard, with feeling. “All right then. Let’s go.” He laced his fingers through Thranduil’s, and they went to find the children, hand-in-hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> And the sequel is now posting! It's called [Break You But You'll Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419968) and it follows on from the epilogue [Empty-Handed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191477) I posted in August. It has no spoilers to speak of for this story because I'm writing the two simultaneously so I'm finding out what happens as we go along, and it's going to be ludicrously fluffy and happy, and best of all, I am getting to write Auriel and Maudie (the wives, the wives! :D ) at last, and they are enormous fun. New chapter every Friday!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	57. Go Well, Be Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family say their goodbyes in private, before Bard, Tauriel and the children have to leave.

After breakfast, at which there was a distinct absence of curiosity from the children as to where they had gone off to the previous night - although Sigrid grinned at them when they entered the room - it was time to finish packing bags, get the luggage loaded into the wagon that was going back to Dale, filled with supplies and gifts, and then, reluctantly, to say their farewells. The family gathered in the chambers they had been using, saddlebags and travelling cloaks piled by the door, and nobody said anything for a moment, until Tilda broke the silence.

“I don’t want to go back to Dale,” she sniffled, and Thranduil went to his knees beside her and drew her into his arms.

“I know, pen-neth,” he said. “But if you do not go back, you will not be able to plant all the seeds and plants my gardeners gave you, and you will not be able to show me how much they have grown when I come to see you at Midsummer.”

“I suppose,” she said, her lower lip wobbling. 

“Besides, do you not want to see what might have happened while you have been away? I am sure the rebuilding work will not have stopped simply because you and your family have not been there.” He dropped a kiss into her hair. “When you get there, you must write me a long letter to tell me everything that has happened. All of you must,” he said, coming back to his feet and looking around at them, Tilda’s hand held in his. “Sigrid, you must tell me about your studies, and Bain, about your training. And Tauriel, hanariel-nín, I would appreciate an update from my ambassador.”

“It will be my pleasure, Adarhanar,” said Tauriel with a smile, placing her hand over her heart, and Thranduil smiled back at her; they were inching closer to the way they had once been with each other, if they were not completely there yet.

“And I’ll send you all my grumblings about the rebuilding, and the talks with Dáin, and how naughty the children are being,” said Bard with a grin that told Thranduil that those would not be the only subjects his letters might touch upon; all three children immediately protested that they were never naughty, so they missed it, but Thranduil noticed, and it made him smile.

“I am sure there will be no need for you to grumble about any of those things,” he said smoothly, and Bard chuckled.

“We’ll see,” he said. “I’ll not count my chickens just yet.”

This was not a phrase with which Thranduil was familiar, but he decided not to ask; there would be time enough at Midsummer for him to familiarise himself a little more with the peculiarities and idioms of his new family’s speech.

“Now,” he said, “I wish to say my true farewells to you all here, in private, before we have to go and be decorous in front of those of my people who will attend to your departure. I will miss you all very much, but Midsummer is not so far away.”

“And my birthday,” piped up Tilda. “You have to come for that, Ada. It’s the week before.”

“I remember, pen-neth,” said Thranduil with a smile. “I will make sure I am there in good time.” Bending to kiss her forehead, he murmured a blessing for safe travels and then addressed her in Westron. “Go well, pen-neth, and think of me when you plant your seeds. Write to me and tell me how they grow, and I will see you again before you know it.”

“I promise,” said Tilda, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly for a moment before she stepped back again, looking up at him with an expression of extreme bravery on her face; she appeared to be winning the battle with her tears, but only just. Thranduil smoothed a hand over her hair and turned to Bain.

“Now, Bain, maethor-nín, you must practise hard with your friends, and with Tauriel, and tell me how you get on. Do not forget your knife-work, and perhaps when I see you again you might wish to spar with me?”

Bain grinned delightedly. “I’ll be good enough by then, I’m going to practise as much as I can.”

“Good,” said Thranduil, resting his hand on Bain’s shoulder for a moment and murmuring his blessing again. “Go well, practise hard, listen to Tauriel, and in the summer we shall spar.”

Bain grinned again, almost bouncing on his toes in his eagerness to get started, and Thranduil turned to Sigrid, who like Tilda appeared to be fighting a valiant battle against tears, her lips bitten together against tremors.

“Sigrid,” he said gently, “melinettë-nín, I shall miss our talks, but I hope you will send me your thoughts and your questions instead, and I will do my best to answer them. Study hard, and when I see you again we shall talk about what you have learned.” He kissed her forehead and murmured his blessing, and Sigrid flung her arms around him, leaning up to whisper fiercely in his ear. 

“You look after yourself, all right, Ada, until we can take care of you again. Don’t get lost again.”

“I promise I will,” whispered Thranduil in response, holding her close. “And you must promise me to look after your father until Midsummer.”

“Of course,” whispered Sigrid, “what do you take me for?” but there was warmth in her voice, and as she pulled away she was smiling, though she dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Next was Tauriel, and Thranduil found that he did not quite know what to say to her, but she simply stepped forward and wrapped him up in an embrace. 

“Be well, Adarhanar,” she murmured, “we will not be so very far away, and it will not be so very long until Midsummer. We will not be apart from you for long.”

“I know, hanariel-nín,” he said softly, resting his cheek upon her hair for a moment. “May you continue to find relief from your pain, and I will see you again very soon.” He tightened his arms around her for a moment and then let her go, turning to Bard. This would be the hardest farewell to take, no matter that they had already more or less said their goodbyes in private. 

They looked at each other for a moment, speaking volumes in their gaze, and then they both stepped towards each other at the same moment, stopping when they were only inches apart. For a long moment they were silent, and then Bard drew in a deep breath and spoke, raising his hands to rest upon Thranduil’s arms. 

“Be well, my love,” he said softly, but clearly enough that everyone could hear him. “We will be well too, and we shall see you in less than three months. And if you want to stay the whole summer in Dale, until the talks in the autumn, you will be more than welcome.” 

“I will think about it,” said Thranduil with a smile. “Perhaps I can leave my people safely enough for a few months. And I shall look forward to seeing the progress you have all made, when I see you at Midsummer.” He pulled Bard a little closer and kissed him, softly and chastely, but with all of his heart nevertheless. “And now, I think, we should go and put you on your horses and say our formal farewells, otherwise you will never leave and Dale will be wondering what on Arda has happened to their royal family.”

Bard almost - but not quite - demurred at the idea of their royalty, and Thranduil could not help a smile; here was a man who would never quite be comfortable with the greatness that had been thrust upon him, and who could therefore be trusted with it where others who might have sought it could not have been. 

“We’d best go,” said Bard after a moment, and Thranduil could hear the reluctance in his voice. “I suppose everyone will be waiting for us.”

Tilda made a whimpering sound, and Thranduil took her hand again, pulling her close in to his side. “We will walk together, will we not, pen-neth?” he said, and, steeling himself, he made for the door, walking slowly, Tilda at his side. Bard and Tauriel, Sigrid and Bain followed behind, and they made their way down to the grand entrance, the great doors, where the stable-hands were waiting with the horses, and with the cart carrying the luggage and the supplies. 

The doors were open, and the stable-hands were holding the horses, and Tilda’s pony - and an extra horse, a noble grey, saddled and ready, alongside the best members of the Woodland Guard, already mounted and prepared to leave.

Thranduil saw the family onto their horses, lifting Tilda into her saddle himself, and then he glanced around at them all, smiled, and swung himself up onto the extra horse, the one Bard had ridden before the battle the previous autumn, sweeping his robe behind him.

“I shall ride with you to the borders of my realm,” he said, “and bid you farewell there.”

He did not miss the way Bard’s face, so drawn and sad, lightened at this news, nor how the children all smiled; Tilda actually cheered. 

“I must still say goodbye to you, pen-neth,” he said to her, and she pulled a face. 

“Still, if it’s not now but later, then that’s better than now,” she said, and he had to laugh at that.

“I will not argue with you on that, pen-neth,” he said, and he nudged his horse to lead the way out of the doors and along the bridge; Bard followed, and then Tauriel and the children, flanked by the members of the guard who would accompany them to the border of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> hanariel-nín: my niece (my construction; literally: brother-daughter)  
> adarhanar: uncle (my construction; literally: father-brother)  
> maethor-nín: my warrior  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> And the sequel is now posting! It's called [Break You But You'll Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419968) and it follows on from the epilogue [Empty-Handed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26191477) I posted in August. It has no spoilers to speak of for this story because I'm writing the two simultaneously so I'm finding out what happens as we go along, and it's going to be ludicrously fluffy and happy, and best of all, I am getting to write Auriel and Maudie (the wives, the wives! :D ) at last, and they are enormous fun. New chapter every Friday!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	58. Until The Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil finally takes his leave of his new family.

Once they were onto the forest road, Bard brought his horse up to ride alongside Thranduil, and they rode beside each other in silence for a while, beneath the trees. 

“I’m glad you’re coming with us,” said Bard eventually, “if only to the edge of the forest. It’ll be no easier to leave you there, but at least it’s a little longer until we have to say goodbye.”

“I did not ride out to greet you, when you arrived,” said Thranduil, “and I regret it now. At the time I was - I was unsure whether you felt for me as I felt for you, and I thought it better to greet you within my halls. Now, of course, I know that I could have ridden out and met you, and I wish I had, but we cannot change what is past.”

Bard laughed softly. “And all the time on the way here I wasn’t sure if you wanted me the way I wanted you. I wasn’t sure if this really was just an official visit, even though you said in your letters - I mean, you made yourself pretty clear, but I didn’t quite dare to hope.”

“I know, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil with a rueful smile. “You also made yourself clear, but I - it was so unfamiliar, I did not quite know what to think.”

“Well, we know now,” said Bard. “At least, I think I know, and I hope you do.”

“I think I have come to understand you,” said Thranduil. “And I think you have also come to understand me. We have built a good foundation between us.”

“I think we have,” said Bard, nudging his horse to ride a little closer to Thranduil’s. “And I hope we can continue building on that foundation in the summer. I meant it when I said I hope you feel you can stay, after Midsummer; it hardly makes sense to go home only to have to come back again for the talks in the autumn. Besides, I’d like you to see the progress we’ve made, and - and it would be nice to be able to spend longer than a month with you.”

“I will think about it,” said Thranduil, smiling. In truth, he was already more than halfway convinced; perhaps it was in fact time to leave Feren in charge, for a short while at least, and see how he got on. Finally he had a reason to leave his kingdom, to spend time elsewhere, and rather a pressing one at that. Bard and the children would not be there in Dale for ever, and perhaps he should seize the opportunity, while it lasted.

“See that you do,” said Bard, flashing a grin across at him, and Thranduil could not help the smile that lit his face at the sight of it. He really was terribly handsome, this brave, compassionate, brilliant man, and he had not the first idea of it; he did not know any of it.

“I will let you know,” Thranduil said. “I am sure that many letters will pass between our two realms in the next months, after all.”

Bard grinned again. “I’ll try not to be such a misery when I write to you this time.”

“Do not apologise for those letters,” said Thranduil. “They told me a great deal of what I needed to know, and I treasure them still.”

“I kept all of your letters in my shirt pocket,” said Bard. “The warm shirt you sent me, it has a pocket here,” he tapped his chest, over his heart, “and I put them there, all of them. Kept me warm, they did, all through the winter.”

“I will send you more to keep you warm through the spring,” said Thranduil, his voice steady though he was more than charmed by Bard’s revelation. He had hoped that his letters would bring him joy, but he had not thought that Bard might have treasured them enough to have kept them close, night and day. 

“I’ll try and write you better ones this time,” said Bard after a moment. “I’m no scholar, I can’t write as beautifully as you do, but I’ll try.”

“Your letters are beautiful simply because they are yours,” said Thranduil. “When I read them it is almost as though you are there with me, telling me everything. I do not want the words of some eloquent scholar, I want _your_ words, telling me about what _you_ are doing. Those mean more to me than any empty formality ever could.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Bard, smiling warmly, and Thranduil felt his heart catch; the coming months would be cold indeed without him, for all that the weather was beginning to turn and spring was marching forth. But his letters would be a comfort, no matter how small.

Sooner than Thranduil would have liked - sooner than any of them would have liked - the trees began to thin, and the edge of the forest came into view ahead. In a few moments they would be out under the open sky, and Thranduil would have to let his new family go - and under the gaze of his Woodland Guard, so the farewells they had all said in private earlier would have to suffice. This would be a frustratingly formal affair.

And then there they were, riding out from under the trees, into the sunshine, and Thranduil steeled himself, reining his horse in and turning to face the others. 

“This is where we must leave you,” he said, “but I will see you a week before Midsummer for the Lady Tilda’s birthday, and in the meantime I wish you a swift and safe journey back to your home.” He saluted them, hand on heart and head inclined, schooling his expression so that none of his thoughts showed upon his face. 

“We will see you at Midsummer,” said Bard, “and we thank you for your hospitality and all you have done for us - we have had a wonderful time in your home.”

Thranduil smiled. “I have greatly enjoyed having you all with me, and I look forward to seeing you again in the summer.” This charade was necessary, he supposed, for the benefit of his guards, but it did not feel right, to be taking his leave of them so formally. In time, perhaps it would become easier, perhaps he and Bard would become more open about what they shared between them, but for now it made sense to tread carefully, test the waters and see how their allies reacted. It made sense, but it did not make it any easier. 

The awkward silence was broken by Tilda sniffling, and Thranduil realised that he would have to call a halt to this ridiculous performance before the little girl grew even more upset. 

“I will take my leave of you now,” he said, “for I must return to my halls and you will need to make good time upon the road back to Dale. Until the summer.” And he saluted again, meeting their eyes one after the other with a warm smile, keeping his façade firmly in place. Tilda was blinking back tears, Bain looked anxious to be getting on the road, Sigrid was tense, biting her lips together; Tauriel’s face was impassive but her eyes were gleaming, and Bard - Bard was smiling, softly, warmly, his heart in his eyes, his gaze telling Thranduil that he knew, he understood what this was costing Thranduil, sending reassurance and compassion to accompany him back to his lonely, empty halls. Thranduil let a little of what he was feeling filter into his eyes, and for a long moment they looked at each other, before Bard nodded, and looked round at his family.

“Come on, then,” he said, “we’d best be going or we’ll barely be up the road by nightfall.” He nudged his horse to start walking, and the others followed suit as Thranduil watched them ride away. Tilda turned around when they were a few yards up the road and waved, and he raised a hand in answer; Bard glanced back once with a small smile and warmth in his eyes - and then they were gone round a bend in the road and it was time for him to return to his halls. He turned his horse, completely ignoring his guards, and rode for home, clamping down on everything in his heart until he could be alone.

Later, in his chambers, Thranduil stood upon the balcony where he had stood so many times with Bard, looking out over the forest towards the lake and the mountain and Dale, allowing his mind to roam over the events of the last month, nudging at the sorrow he felt at parting from Bard and his family, and from Tauriel, testing it as one might test a wound to see if it still hurt. The pain was there, he found, but it was not as acute as he had expected it to be, and he certainly did not feel as miserably lonely as he had over the winter; or at least, he did not yet. But this time he was more certain in his feelings, he and Bard had built a good foundation between them, as he had said earlier, rather than the rocky, uncertain ground that had been there after the battle, and the children’s wholehearted, unquestioning adoption of him had warmed his heart still further. He missed them all, but it would not be so long until he saw them again. 

No, it was not their departure that was giving him pause, he thought; his trouble was far deeper, far older, the memories of his battle with the dragon so long ago coming rearing up to grasp at him with fire and flame. He did not regret telling Bard about it, nor did he regret showing Bard his scars; on the contrary, he was glad that he had found the courage to be honest with him. He did not have to hide that part of his soul any more, the part that still drew back from fire and feared dragons with an instinctive terror. And that Bard had not turned away from his scars, had not been repulsed but had responded only with compassion and love - Thranduil felt as though that had healed a little of a wound to his soul that he had almost forgotten he had been carrying, it had been there for so long. Yet again Bard’s calm acceptance and compassion had been a balm to his exhausted, aching heart, and he would remember it when he needed distraction from the darkness in his mind.

Now was just such an occasion, he thought to himself with a thin smile. The dragon was not here, for he had slain it thousands of years ago. The dragon in the mountain was not here, for Bard had slain it not six months ago. As far as Thranduil knew there were no more dragons in Arda, and he would not mourn the passing of their species. There was no more reason to fear, and his memories, terrible as they were, were just memories, only ghosts of fire that held no heat, no power to touch him any more. 

“Perhaps if I tell myself often enough it will become true,” he muttered under his breath, and leaned on the balcony railing, fixing his gaze upon the far distance. He could not quite make out the city of Dale, for the rise of the hills around the lake hid it from view, but he knew where it was. Perhaps he should come here when he felt the pull of his old familiar despair, and look to the north-east and the home of his new source of hope, for the time being at least.

And in the meantime, it would not be so long until Midsummer. He would have to think of something to give Tilda for her birthday. Moreover, he realised, he would have to ask Bard when the rest of the family celebrated their birthdays, for it had not come up in conversation and he had forgotten to ask, birthdays not being a custom particularly marked by his people. He had a lot to learn about the ways of Men, it seemed, but he was sure that his new family would delight in teaching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> We're over 3000 hits since I posted the last chapter! Thank you all so much! This is now my third-most 'hit' story, behind a seven-year-old Christmas-themed HP story about Molly Weasley's infamous jumpers, which gets a boost every December, and an eight-year-old 10 Things I Hate About You one-shot, whose high hit count I have never really understood. I've been working on new chapters during NaNoWriMo (as well as the sequel!) and though I'm not quite far enough ahead to go back to daily posting, I'm making progress. None of this would have been possible without all you lovely people reading and kudos-ing and commenting, and I love you all very much for it. <33333333
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	59. The Road Leads Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Sigrid talk on the way home to Dale, and the following morning Bard does some unpacking, and discovers that Thranduil has sent some gifts.

Bard nudged his horse up the road, away from Thranduil, glancing back at him at the last moment before they rounded the bend in the road; one last glimpse of his beautiful beloved before he was lost to Bard’s sight. And then the thread between them stretched and snapped, as Thranduil disappeared from view, and Bard turned his gaze to the road ahead. They should only need to camp for one night, and then by the end of tomorrow they would be back in Dale, even with the wagon full of supplies slowing them down.

After a while, Sigrid guided her horse up alongside his. “I know you’re worried about him, Da,” she said quietly. “I’m worried too. But I think he’ll be all right. I think we’ve shown him enough reasons to be happy that he has us, rather than sad that we’ve gone away.”

“I hope so,” said Bard with a soft sigh. “I just think of him all alone in those vast halls, and - I don’t like thinking of him all on his own back there.”

Sigrid chuckled softly. “Are you going to be like this all the time until Midsummer?”

“Like what?” Bard demanded, though he knew what she meant. 

“Moping like you did all winter. Look, Da, I know you miss him, and I know it’s hard for you, being apart from him. But there’s other things to be glad about, you know. We have a proper new life now, after all, and plenty to do to build it.”

“I know, sweetheart,” said Bard. “And I think I’ll do better, this time. Now that I know where we stand, and that he’ll come to me gladly in the summer.”

Sigrid laughed properly, then. “Oh, Da. You didn’t really spend the whole winter fretting over whether he really wanted you? After the way he looked at you all through the memorial, and the farewell ceremony, and all that time you spent together?”

Bard gave her a sheepish look. “I wasn’t sure. We didn’t quite manage to tell each other, after all, how we felt, before he had to leave.”

“Da, you are a prize idiot,” said Sigrid, laughing again. “But everything is sorted out now, and there’s no need for you to mope over that, at least. Only over missing him.”

“You,” said Bard, “are as cheeky as your mother was. And I daresay you’ll understand sooner or later, in any case, and then I will have my revenge on you for your teasing.”

“I really don’t think so, Da,” said Sigrid, suddenly serious. “I don’t want to marry, and I don’t - I don’t feel that way, about anyone. I don’t think that’s how I work.”

“You’re only young,” said Bard, “you haven’t met all that many people yet, there might be someone out there that lights that spark for you.”

“I don’t think so,” said Sigrid, shaking her head. “I’ve met a good few people now, all different kinds of people, not like in Lake-town, and not a one of them has turned my head. I’m just not interested in anyone like that, and I don’t think I ever will be.”

“Oh,” said Bard, and he fell silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Well, I suppose you’ll have no distractions when you’re Lady of Dale, and you won’t waste any of your time moping over someone you don’t even need to be moping over.” He gave her a sheepish grin, and she smiled. 

“Go on with you, Da. I think you’re entitled to it. You’ve put us first for so long, it’s only fair you should have something for yourself. Besides, we’re all here to help you with everything, you don’t have to do it all yourself.”

“You have your own things to be doing,” protested Bard. “You’re still children, you should be enjoying yourselves, especially now.”

“I am enjoying myself,” said Sigrid, “Bain and Tilda too. We’ve found things we like doing, they just happen to be things that help you, too. You have to let us do them. We’re all growing up anyway, even Tilda, we’re going to have to learn all of this stuff soon in any case.” She grinned. “You’ll be busy enough that you won’t have much time to be moping, Da. It’ll be Midsummer before you know it.”

“And in that short time I have to make at least part of the big house ready so we can put your Ada in it when he visits,” said Bard, shaking his head; he really was not sure how he was going to manage it. “He certainly can’t stay in our house with us.”

“I don’t think he’d fit,” giggled Sigrid. “You can barely stand up in some of the rooms without hitting your head, imagine how he’d be.”

“Not to mention all the rooms are occupied already,” said Bard.

Sigrid just looked at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. “You wouldn’t just put him in with you, then?”

“I can’t,” he protested. “He’s a visiting ally and a King, no less. I have to put him in his own quarters, for he’ll have his people with him, and might I remind you that _our_ people have no idea of my true relationship with him, not to mention the Dwarves?”

“I know, Da,” said Sigrid. “I was only teasing you. I know it’ll complicate things, if people find out before you’re ready to tell them, especially with Dáin.” She glanced at his hair. “On the other hand, he might work it out for himself, of course.”

Bard chuckled. “He might. Is it wrong of me to be rather looking forward to it?”

Sigrid grinned. “It’ll certainly be interesting. I assume you’ll be keeping a straight face and claiming innocence?”

“Of course,” said Bard. “And then we’ll see what happens when the talks begin at Midsummer with your Ada present.”

“I hope you’ll have me there,” said Sigrid firmly.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” said Bard. “You’re my chief adviser, don’t forget.”

“So I should hope,” said Sigrid, and they both laughed as they rode onwards, away from the forest and back towards Dale.

They reached the city late in the afternoon on the following day, and once the wagon was unloaded and lodgings found for its driver, all anyone felt like was an early night.

The following morning, Bard rose early, and went downstairs to look through the bags and boxes which had been left in the sitting room - well, other than the kitchen it was the only room on the ground floor of their little house. There were the bags they’d packed themselves, with the clothes that Thranduil had given them; he had insisted they take them back with them. Then there was a box of books, for Sigrid; the weapons for Bain and his friends; Tilda’s cases of seeds and bulbs and plants. But there were still more boxes and as Bard dug through them he realised that Thranduil had sent more clothes, some bottles of wine, bottles of fruit nectar and a box of sweetmeats addressed to the children - he shook his head at his lover’s generosity, and only the knowledge that the crates of supplies for the rest of the people included at least three filled with clothing in all sizes, and more containing food and drink kept him from feeling too guilty.

In the top of the second box of clothing, Bard found four flat wooden cases, and when he snapped one open he realised that it contained one of the circlets he and his children had worn at the formal dinners Thranduil had given in the Woodland Realm. He had thought that they would leave them behind, having no real need of them in Dale, but when he opened the largest case, containing the circlet he himself had worn, a square of paper fluttered out; he picked it up and realised that it was a note from Thranduil: _Meleth-nín, you may have need of these sooner than you realise, for you must appear suitably attired for your talks with the King under the Mountain._ It was signed with a scrolling _T_ and Bard could not help smiling. 

In the top of the last box were five folds of paper, each of them sealed with green wax and the impression of a leaf, dusted with silver, and each one addressed to a member of the family. Bard set aside the others upon the table for the children and Tauriel to discover when they awoke, and then took up the one addressed to him and sat down in the chair by the fire, sliding the blade of his pocketknife under the seal to lift it off the paper. 

They were back to communicating by letter again, he thought disconsolately, but his heart leapt anyway as he unfolded the paper and smoothed his fingers across the words before settling down to read. 

_Meleth-nín, you are home in Dale now and no longer by my side, but I hope that my letters may once more be a comfort to you as yours will be to me each time one arrives. I trust that your journey was smooth and uneventful, and that the rebuilding of Dale has progressed well in your absence; I shall look forward to seeing how far you have come when I see you at Midsummer. It will not be so long, and I want you not to worry about me; I will miss you dreadfully but we will see each other again soon enough. In the meantime, know that I love you with all of my heart, and perhaps think, as I shall, of the negotiations we have already successfully conducted, to sustain you until we meet again, and may resume our diplomacy. I shall wait upon your letter, and remain, as I ever shall, very much yours - Thranduil._

Bard read it over once, twice, feeling his face heat at Thranduil’s mention of ‘negotiations’ and ‘diplomacy’; nobody else would know what meaning those words had come to have for the two of them, but now he had thought of it he could not stop thinking of it. Taking a deep breath, he folded the letter up and put it in his shirt pocket, and went to the desk to write a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	60. Everything's Changed So Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard, Sigrid and Tilda take a walk around the city to see how the rebuilding is progressing, and run into Bofur.

When the others were awake and they had all eaten breakfast, Bard suggested a walk around the city to see how everything had progressed while they had been away. Sigrid and Tilda were keen, but Bain wanted to round up his friends and begin training with the weapons Thranduil had sent, and Tauriel volunteered to go with him and conduct affairs. 

“Don’t forget, children, don’t call Thranduil ‘Ada’ to anyone outside these walls,” said Bard. “And don’t use his name. We’re supposed to be just allies, for the moment, so best you just call him the Elvenking.”

“Why?” Tilda wanted to know, and Bard sighed. 

“Because until we’ve got a bit more established, and got ourselves on a bit better terms with Dáin, people might not like that we’ve become so close,” he said. 

“Why not?” was Tilda’s next question, and at that, Sigrid stepped in.

“Because they might think we’re getting special treatment from Ada. Which we are, sort of,” she gestured round at the boxes and bags from the Woodland Realm, “but not in the way they’ll think. It’s important that we make sure Dáin knows that Dale will treat Erebor and the Woodland Realm equally, and that the Woodland Realm will treat Dale and Erebor equally. And here in Dale -“ she broke off, looking for the words, and Tauriel took over. 

“Here in Dale, the people have chosen your father as their leader,” she said, “but it would not take much for them to start complaining that my King has put him there, or is showing him undue favour, or influencing him. Your father has to establish himself as independent, before we can introduce the idea that we are now all one family.”

“We need to have an election soon,” said Sigrid. “Just so that people can make their choice again. Everything’s changed so much.”

“What if they don’t choose Da?” Bain wanted to know, and Bard shrugged. 

“Then we can get on with our lives, and someone else can sort out all the difficult stuff,” he said. 

“There isn’t anyone else to choose, Bain, and you know it,” said Sigrid. “I’d do it, but I’m not old enough, and nobody will take me seriously yet because they don’t know what I can do. But really, think about it, who else from Lake-town do you think would be able to do what Da does, or even want to?”

“Good point,” said Bain. “So you’re probably stuck with it for now, Da.”

“More’s the pity,” said Bard, but he only half-meant it; he was quite enjoying the challenge of the rebuilding, at least, and the chance to achieve the vision he’d had when they’d entered Dale, of these streets once more full of life. The rest of what came with leadership he could do without, but for now, he supposed, he could live with it. He had to smile at the thought: clearly the time in Thranduil’s realm had changed his mind; he certainly no longer felt as miserable about it all as he had when they had left Dale a month ago.

“You’ll be fine,” said Bain. “And once I’ve got my guards trained up, we’ll have a proper defence. Can we go and get started?”

“Of course you may,” said Bard. “As long as Tauriel does not wish to tour the city.”

“I can see the city later,” said Tauriel. “I am looking forward to introducing Bain’s friends to the weapons we have brought.”

“Off you go then,” said Bard, “and in the meantime, perhaps I can conduct my two ladies through the streets on our inspection,” and he crooked his elbows for Sigrid and Tilda to take, which they did with much giggling. 

They made their way up the hill to start with, towards the great hall and then the lord’s house; Bard wanted to take a look at it and assess the work to be done to make it fit to house the great and the good of Elvenkind - and to give Thranduil somewhere more comfortable to sleep than a campaign tent.

On the way they passed the little square which had housed the broken children’s carousel, and Tilda squealed and tugged on Bard’s sleeve, drawing his attention. 

“Oh, Da, it’s mended! Look, the carousel is mended!” Tilda’s voice was full of excitement, and Bard had to smile when he saw that the carousel was indeed as good as new, the structure straightened and the animals repaired and brightly painted. 

“Who has done that, I wonder,” he said, and a merry voice came from above them, hailing them brightly. 

“Good day to you, my Lord, my Ladies! ’Twas I repaired the carousel, along with some of my comrades, to give the Lady Tilda and her friends a little something to brighten their days!”

Bard looked up, just as the girls did too, and Tilda squealed, “Mister Bofur!” True enough, there was the cheerful Dwarf, hanging half-in and half-out of a window above their heads,. 

“Good day to you, good day indeed!” he cried. “I trust you had a safe journey back, and the Elves treated you better than they treated us when we dropped in on them!”

Bard laughed. “They were most hospitable,” he said, “and the journey was entirely uneventful. I must thank you for repairing the carousel - the children have been badly in need of something fun to take their minds off all they have been through.”

“That was my thinking, sir,” said Bofur. “Seeing the bairns over the winter fair broke my heart, it did - not saying you weren’t busy seeing to the important stuff, like roofs over their heads and warm clothes and fires to warm their bones, and to be sure you didn’t have time for the silly stuff like carousels. But I thought, if there’s something we can do for them that’s _not_ the important stuff, maybe we should do it. Been carving toys too, out of wood. Dale used to have the best toy market in all the land, did you know that, sir?”

“I had heard it mentioned,” said Bard, remembering the conversation he had had with Thranduil about Dale's former glory, as Tilda squeaked in excitement. 

“Oh, Mister Bofur, are you carving again? I’ve still got the cat you carved for me, in the boat after the dragon came, I take it with me everywhere.” She fished in the pocket of her dress, and brought out a little wooden cat; it was beautifully carved, and Bard wondered why he had not seen it before.

“That’s a lovely gift, kitten,” he said, “may I see it?” 

Tilda handed it to him with a smile. “It’s funny, because Mister Bofur didn’t know that you call me kitten, Da, but he still made me a cat.”

“It was the first thing that sprang to my mind, sir,” said Bofur, “back there in the boat. The wee lady was scared, and I had a bit of wood and my whittling knife in my pocket, so I made that to cheer her up a bit.”

“I am ever in your debt,” said Bard. “I only wonder that I haven’t seen it before now.”

“I thought I’d showed it to you, Da,” said Tilda. “Only I suppose it got so busy after the boat, and I just put it in my pocket to keep it safe, and then I kept it in my pocket when I put different clothes on, and I suppose I forgot I hadn’t shown you.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” said Bard. “It certainly was busy for a while, back there.” He turned the cat over in his palm and then gave it back to Tilda. “You’re very skilled, Bofur,” he said. “Once we’ve got the market up and running again, perhaps you would like to help us get our toy-market’s reputation back?”

“I’d be delighted,” said Bofur with a broad grin and a comical twirl of his moustache. “I’ll put the word round, there’s enough of us with skill at toy-making. We’ll have your market the envy of all around in no time.”

“Can you tell me how the building work progresses?” asked Bard, and Bofur tipped his hat. 

“I’ll be down to you directly,” he said, and pulled himself back through the window. In a few moments he was almost tumbling out of the door onto the street, and Tilda extricated her hand from Bard’s elbow and ran to greet him with a hug. 

“Hello, Mister Bofur!” she exclaimed. “I missed you! It was lovely in the Woodland Realm and A-the Elvenking is very nice, but I did miss talking to you!”

Bard exchanged a glance with Sigrid and breathed a sigh of relief that Tilda had taken on board the importance of not betraying the closeness of their new family - or indeed its existence. 

“Well, Lady Tilda, I did miss you very much too,” said Bofur, and he crooked his arm for her. “Let me show you all what we’ve been up to.”

Bofur conducted them around the city, showing off the progress that had been made, and Bard was quietly impressed by how much the builders had achieved in his absence. 

As they made their way up to the top of the hill, Bard ventured to ask about the lord’s house. “How much work do you think it would take to make it habitable?” he enquired tentatively, and Bofur sucked air through his teeth as he considered the question.

“Hard to say, sir,” he said. “Were you wanting to move in?”

“No, not at all,” Bard hastened to reply. “We are quite comfortable in the house we have. But there is a possibility we may have dignitaries visiting in the autumn, and the Elvenking wishes to begin negotiations between Dale, the Woodland Realm and Erebor at Midsummer. I feel that we cannot ask them to make do with tents, or the smaller lodgings, and the big house is our only other option.”

“I see,” said Bofur. “Well, I don’t think we can get it grandly done in the time, but we can get it done simply enough. If his Majesty is coming at Midsummer we can do a wing for him, and one or two rooms for eating and so on, and then we can get on with the other wing for your dignitaries after.” He grinned. “You’ll have to ask King Dáin, though, and who knows what he’ll say.”

“I am sure King Dáin can be persuaded,” said Sigrid, a smile in her voice. “Especially if you can make him see the benefit to him, and to Erebor. And getting the market back up and running would be a benefit, I should think, if there’s a place to trade.” She chuckled. “Also, if he doesn’t have to put up the dignitaries, that’ll be another benefit to him.”

“Will it, now?” said Bofur, his eyebrows waggling, and Sigrid laughed again.

“We can’t say yet, because it isn’t fixed, but I think it’s safe to say he’ll be happier if they’re here rather than there.”

“I see,” said Bofur. “They’ll be wanting running water, then, if it’s, you know, _people King Dáin doesn’t want to put up in Erebor_.” He waggled his eyebrows again and grinned, and everyone laughed at that. 

“I was meaning to ask you about that,” said Bard. “Now we’ve got everyone housed, we probably ought to be thinking about plumbing and sanitation and so on.”

“Aye,” said Bofur, “and a big job it’ll be, but I should think Lady Sigrid here will be able to sweet-talk Dáin into sending some of our lads over. I know of at least two water engineers who’re kicking around in Erebor without much to do.” He grinned. “Turned out the dragon hardly touched the plumbing. So if you want a bath in the meantime, you just come to us.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Bard, hoping that his face did not betray what was in his mind, which was a sudden, vivid memory of the last bath he had taken, in the Woodland Realm, with Thranduil. He blinked, shook his head a little to clear the images from his mind’s eye, and was about to ask Bofur another question about the building work, when Tilda called for him, excitement in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	61. The Hope Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda makes a discovery, Bard remembers the battle, Bofur is charming, and everyone has letters to write.

Tilda had run a little way ahead while Bard, Sigrid and Bofur had been talking, and now she was kneeling on the ground, pointing at something. 

“What is it, kitten?” Bard asked, making his way towards her, and Tilda looked up at him with an excited smile.

“Look, Da! It’s an oak tree! Only a little baby one, but look how it’s growing in the middle of the street! I wonder where it can have come from.”

Bard knelt beside her, frowning, this was indeed a young tree, barely more than a seedling, and he could not think how it had grown here, where no one had been in over a hundred and fifty years. Then - then a memory came to him and he looked up at his surroundings. It looked different now, the buildings had been shored up and some of them repaired, and much of the debris had been cleared away; the snow was gone, and the bodies, and the blood on the street, but he remembered.

“The little Halfling - Mr Baggins - he planted it, in the middle of the battle. It was going very badly, and I had lost hope. Gandalf, too. I thought - I thought all was lost.” He looked at the ground for a moment, fighting to retain his composure; he had thought he was going to die, and if he died, then there was surely no hope for his children’s survival. 

“It’s all right, Da,” came Sigrid’s soft voice, her hand on his shoulder, and dimly he realised that she had come to kneel next to him; Tilda slid her hand into his and squeezed his fingers. 

“It’s all right, Da,” she echoed her sister, “we’re here. The Eagles came, and we won, remember?”

Bard nodded, pulling himself together. “I know, kitten,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Anyway, Mr Baggins - he saw that we had lost our hope, and he told us not to despair. Fierce, he was, and braver than either of us could have been at that moment. Then he took an acorn from his pocket and he got down on his knees and he planted it, right here in the middle of the street, among the dirt and the snow and the blood. And he said something about - about going on living. About how the acorn was a promise of new life.” He laughed a little unsteadily. “And here we are, in the spring, against all the odds, and that new life is right here in front of us.”

“He gave you back your hope, Da,” said Tilda, her voice full of wonder. “So - so we have to call this the Hope Tree, and we have to put a fence round it because it’s in the middle of the street and we can’t have anyone pulling it out or knocking it over. It’s got to grow big, as a reminder.”

“I can do that for you, my lady,” said Bofur softly, and Bard looked up to see an uncommonly serious expression on his face. “Bilbo’s a good soul, and I don’t doubt he’d had another purpose for that acorn, but when he saw you needed it, he gave it to you.” He nodded. “We’ll make sure his gift stays safe.”

“I have to write to him and tell him his acorn grew!” said Tilda, excited again. “And when it’s big enough to have acorns of its own, we’ll send him some, because if he wanted to do something else with this one, it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to do it.”

“Aye, my lady,” said Bofur, “that would please him greatly, I’m sure. He’ll be glad to have that acorn back, even if it’s at one remove.”

“That’s very kind of you, kitten,” said Bard. “You can write your letter when we go back home. You’ve got a letter to write to your - to the Elvenking, anyway, don’t forget.” He hoped Bofur hadn’t noticed his slip.

“Oh, yes!” said Tilda. “I have to thank him for the plants and the seeds. Mister Bofur, I’m going to make a garden!” She bounded back to her feet and grabbed Bofur’s hand, tugging him along the street as she chattered away about her plans, pointing to this patch of ground and that.

Bard and Sigrid stayed kneeling by the oak sapling for a moment. It was bigger than Bard would have expected it to be, for only having been planted six months ago, but then again, he had spent his whole life on the lake, and what he knew about trees could probably be jotted down on the back of the small square of paper Thranduil had tucked in with his circlet. Thranduil would know, he supposed, and perhaps he should ask him.

“It’s a tiny miracle, isn’t it, Da?” said Sigrid. “A little wonder, just for us.”

“It really is,” said Bard, letting out a long sigh. “I honestly thought I was going to lose you all. I thought we were all going to die. And that little Halfling was wiser and braver than me or than Gandalf. He gave us back our courage. I need to write to him, too, to thank him.”

“We’ll all be writing letters, this afternoon,” said Sigrid. “I want to thank Ada for the books, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, while we were riding, about the talks, and about our alliance, and I want to tell him my ideas.” She grinned. “We need to send word to King Dáin, too, if we’re going to get more builders and some plumbers out of him to get the big house fixed up enough to put Ada in it when he visits.”

“You’re right as usual, sweetheart,” said Bard. “Come on, let’s go and catch up Tilda and Bofur, and you can tell me all about it on the way.” He paused, looking at the sapling again. “But first, let’s just build a bit of a barrier round this, until Bofur can put his fence up.” Glancing to one side he saw a pile of building stone, and between them he and Sigrid built a makeshift wall around the sapling, high enough to be seen but steady enough not to topple over and crush it. 

“There,” said Sigrid. “That ought to do the trick, for now at least. Come on then.” She slipped her hand through Bard’s arm, and they followed the sound of Tilda’s excited voice, finding her and Bofur sitting on a wall at the back of the big house, overlooking what must once have been the lord’s garden; Tilda was pointing here and there and holding forth about where she thought her various plants should go, and Bofur was casting an experienced eye over the ground, and the rubble still strewn about the place.

“I should think you could get a good-sized vegetable garden in there, my lady,” Bofur was saying as Bard and Sigrid boosted themselves up onto the wall beside them. “And a pleasure-garden as well, lots of flowers. We could probably fix you up a rockery if you wanted one, it’s not as though there isn’t plenty of broken stone around.” He chuckled and Tilda giggled.

Bard smiled; his youngest daughter’s friendship with the merriest of Thorin’s company was yet another unexpected joy that had sprung from the ruin of their lives. When he thought now that he had nearly turned Bofur and his friends away, in Lake-town, he felt a stab of shame, although he had had his reasons at the time. But Kíli’s sickness had swayed him, and now he was infinitely glad that it had.

“You’ll have to wait a little while for your pleasure-garden, kitten,” he said after a moment. “There’s a lot of other stuff to do, and your fruit and vegetables ought to come first. You’ve got your part to play too, in getting the market back up and running.”

“Ah, I should think we can spare you a little time to get your garden looking nice for your visitors, sir,” said Bofur, his eyes twinkling, and Bard shook his head.

“You know you don’t have to keep calling me that, Bofur,” he said. “You don’t need to be calling the children ‘lady’ and ‘lord’ either. You’re a friend.”

“Aye, I know,” said Bofur with a mischievous grin, “but I like to do it. I like the sound of it. Besides, I’d still be calling these two ‘my lady’ if you were all still back in Lake-town, because ladies is what they are, regardless of birth or station.”

“Charmer,” said Sigrid, smiling affectionately, and Bofur laughed.

“One of my many talents, my lady,” he said, “but in any case, it’s true.”

They fell into a discussion about the rebuilding after that, and about Tilda’s plans for market gardens, passing a happy couple of hours kicking their heels and making plans for the future. 

Later, when they had gone back to the little house and Tauriel and Bain had returned from training, both of them full of excitement about how well it had gone, the family all settled down to write their letters. Tilda had two - one to Thranduil and one to Bilbo - and Bard had the one to Bilbo, and an extra note to Thranduil asking for advice on the care of oak saplings. 

After a while, Tilda came to show Bard her letter to Bilbo, and he had to smile at her careful lettering and heartfelt words, as well as the diligent crossing-out of a mistake. 

_Dear Mr Baggins,_ she had written, _I am writing to let you know that the acorn you planted during the battle is growing into a little tree and just as soon as it has acorns we’ll send you some so that you can have a tree too. Da says that when you planted it you gave him hope, so we’re going to call it the Hope Tree. I hope you are well and you got home all right. I’m going to make lots of gardens here, and grow vegetables and fruit. ~~Ada~~_ [this was crossed out several times] _The Elvenking says that Dale used to be the garden of the North and I’m going to make it that again. Love from Tilda (of Dale)._

“That’s lovely, kitten,” he said as she beamed up at him. “I should think he’ll be very pleased to get that. We’ll send it on via your Ada; I think he’ll be having a letter to send to Lord Elrond before too long.”

“We ought to write to Lord Elrond as well,” put in Sigrid from across the room. “It’s probably as well if the invitation comes from all of us. Which means persuading King Dáin to write a letter too.”

Bard laughed. “I’m sure that’ll be fun. All right, kitten, we’ll get our letters written to Lord Elrond, and then your letter to Mr Baggins can go with them. Rivendell is on the way to the Shire, and I’m sure Lord Elrond has some dealings with the Shire-folk one way or another.”

“I did have the impression that he’s less isolated than Ada,” said Sigrid, and Tauriel laughed. 

“You’re right,” she said. “Lord Elrond does still send messengers to the Woodland Realm, occasionally, but he doesn’t get much in reply. I think they were in contact more frequently before the Queen died.”

“That makes sense,” said Bard. “Well, let’s see if we can’t foster relations between Rivendell and the Woodland Realm, as well as the other alliances we’re trying to make. You never know, it might work.” Taking Tilda’s letter, he folded it up and cast an eye over the letter he himself had written to Bilbo.

_Bard, Lord of Dale, to Mr Bilbo Baggins of The Shire, greetings. I enclose a letter to you from my youngest daughter, Tilda, whom you may remember from Lake-town. She was most delighted to find an oak seedling growing in the middle of the street in Dale this spring, and I remembered that you had planted an acorn there in the midst of the battle. You gave me back the hope I had lost, in that moment, and I did not thank you at the time, but I send you my thanks now, and my good wishes for your safe return home and hope that you are settling back in well. I think that Tilda has told you that she has named the sapling the Hope Tree, and I think it will grow to become a fitting memorial of the battle. If you are ever passing Dale again you will be most welcome to visit, but in the meantime Tilda says that when the tree produces acorns she will send some to you, for I am sure you had another purpose for the acorn you planted, and we wish to replace it for you, with our gratitude. With best wishes from myself and my family - Bard of Dale._

Yes - that would do. Bard folded Tilda’s letter inside his own and sealed it with a smudge of red wax softened in the flame of the candle that was sitting on his desk. He still did not have a seal matrix - he would have to ask the Dwarves if they could provide him with one - and he did not feel that he wanted to use his thumb, for that was for his letters to Thranduil. The wax would have to do without an impression, but he felt fairly sure Bilbo would understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> The Hope Tree is inspired by [this deleted scene](https://youtu.be/JvELaZeyf_0) included with the Appendices for _Battle of the Five Armies_. Peter Jackson says that because this scene was never used, it's canon that Bilbo took the acorn home with him, but I thought it was a shame this lovely moment wasn't included, so I've used it here. I know that acorn has enormous significance, especially to all you Bilbo/Thorin shippers, and so Tilda is going to send some acorns to Bag End as soon as the tree is big enough to grow some, so that Bilbo can still plant his tree - but I thought it would be rather nice if he had used it to give hope to the people of Dale along the way. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	62. Better Than Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard, Sigrid and Tauriel visit Erebor to persuade Dáin that talks with the Elves might be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, here beginneth properly Dáin's involvement in this story. :D I'm having so much fun with him and I've been so excited to get to this bit and share him (and his colourful language) with you all. There will be more from him soon!

The next day, Bard and Sigrid, wearing their circlets, headed along the road to Erebor with Tauriel; they were keen to be able to send their letters to Thranduil as soon as possible, and that meant persuading Dáin to agree to inviting Lord Elrond to the talks in the autumn, and getting him to write a letter. 

“I think we’re in for a long day, sweetheart,” said Bard, and Sigrid grinned at him from the back of her horse.

“You and me both, Da. But we’ll do our best. And hopefully he’ll see things our way, with a bit of persuasion.”

“Or a lot,” said Bard. “We’ll have to see if he’ll even see us, turning up without notice, and all.”

“I’m sure he will,” said Sigrid. “We can always ask Balin to have a word with him, after all.”

And so it turned out; the Dwarf on guard at the gates of Erebor was not one they had met before, and though Bard tried to explain the importance of their messages for Dáin, the guard did not seem inclined to be particularly helpful.

“Would it be possible for us to speak to Master Balin?” asked Sigrid after a couple of minutes of arguing back and forth. “He knows us quite well.”

The guard harrumphed, but she did send the message back, and when the three of them had been hanging around outside for twenty minutes or so, suddenly the postern gate opened and Balin appeared, his face creasing into a smile and his eyes twinkling as he saw them. 

“My Lord, my Ladies, what can I do for you today?” he asked as he approached, his arms wide. 

Sigrid went straight into his embrace and accepted his welcoming kiss on her cheek, leaving one of her own on his cheek in return and stepping back so that Tauriel could salute him. 

“We were hoping to be able to see King Dáin,” Tauriel explained as Balin shook Bard’s hand. 

“If he’s not busy,” said Bard. “It was quicker to just come across here than send a message, and we’re hoping to settle what we need to talk to him about quite quickly, so we can send some letters.”

“Letters, eh?” said Balin, his eyebrows going up. 

“We’re thinking that it’s about time we got talks going between Dale, Erebor and the Woodland Realm,” said Bard. “So we’ll need to be writing to the Elvenking, if King Dáin agrees to having talks between all three of us.”

“I see,” said Balin. “Well, it would be wise to hammer out this alliance between our peoples sooner rather than later. Come in, come in, and I’ll go and have a word with His Majesty and see if he’ll see you.”

“Thank you,” said Bard. “It’s good to see you again, by the way.”

“Yes,” said Sigrid, “and I’m sorry we didn’t say so right away.”

“Ah, don’t you worry, lassie,” said Balin. “You’re on important business, it’s only sensible to establish what you want first, and attend to pleasantries second.” He hailed a young Dwarf and instructed them to find the three visitors somewhere to sit and something to drink while they waited, and then bustled off into the mountain.

“Do you think he’ll see us?” asked Tauriel in an undertone, and Bard shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I hope so. He didn’t seem too unreasonable before, when we visited, after all. Only on the surface.”

Sigrid grinned. “I rather like him. And I think he likes us, because we’re straight with him and we stand up to him.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard, although he was not as convinced as Sigrid that Dáin was interested in them as anything more than a drain on his resources that would need a keen eye keeping upon it. 

Sooner than they expected, Balin came back; they had only been waiting a few minutes, and Bard expected him to tell them that Dáin would not see them today, but then he realised that the old Dwarf was smiling.

“Come with me, if you will,” he said, “His Majesty wants to see you directly.” He chuckled. “I think it might have something to do with where you’ve been the last month or so.”

Bard groaned softly, only a little for effect. “I should have known,” he said. “Well, we’ve news enough for him, and that’s the other reason why we’re here.” 

“Aye, I’m sure,” said Balin, his eyes twinkling, as he ushered them along corridors and up stairs, until they found themselves making their way along the walkway to the throne of the King under the Mountain, as they had done several times before. Bard caught himself thinking that it was not all that unlike Thranduil’s throne room - high-ceilinged, a precipitous drop either side of the walkway, the throne raised above the platform for supplicants and visitors; perhaps there was something about kingship that brought with it a particular way of thinking, no matter the origin of the king concerned. 

Dáin was sitting upon his throne and he greeted them loudly as they approached. “Well then,” he cried, “the Lord of Dale and his daughter are finally returned from their sojourn with the fairies, and they’ve brought the fairy ambassador with them! How do you do? I trust you enjoyed your stay? Nice headgear, by the way.”

Bard bowed his head, and Sigrid bobbed a curtsey as Tauriel saluted, and then Bard addressed the King under the Mountain, hoping his amusement wasn’t audible in his voice. 

“Thank you for seeing us today, your Majesty,” he said. “We much appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to see us. As for our stay in the Woodland Realm, it was very productive, and we have come to see you to tell you of some of the matters we discussed with the Elvenking.”

“Have you indeed?” said Dáin. “What was that, then?”

“First and foremost, that it is now time we held talks between our three realms, to discuss the alliance we first spoke of after the battle last year. The Elvenking suggests that he visit at Midsummer, if that is convenient to you.” Bard put in the last bit himself; he knew that Thranduil did not give a fig whether or not Midsummer would be convenient to Dáin, but it was as well to be diplomatic.

“Midsummer, you say?” Dáin made a show of considering it. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to talk to him sooner or later. What else?”

“My King has heard from Lord Elrond of Rivendell,” said Tauriel, “with the news that the occupant of the fortress of Dol Guldur, to the south of the Woodland Realm, was no ordinary necromancer, but Sauron himself. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel fought him, with the wizards Saruman and Gandalf, and he fled to Mordor, but Lord Elrond is concerned at the extent of Sauron’s reach, and he and my King both think it wise that a broader alliance should be considered, including Rivendell and possibly also Lothlórien, as well as our three realms.”

“They do, do they? And what do you and your da think, lassie? Do you agree with the fairy kings?” Dáin addressed Sigrid, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I think that any alliance against the forces of Sauron will be stronger the larger it is,” said Sigrid. “You saw how many of them there were last autumn, just as we did.”

“Aye, I did,” said Dáin, thoughtfully, and Sigrid forged on, encouraged.

“So we think, Da and I, and the Elvenking, and Tauriel, that it would be as well if Lord Elrond came to a further round of talks, perhaps in the autumn, so that we can all discuss together what we must do next.”

“So I must deal with not one insufferable Elf, but two?” demanded Dáin. “You’ll have to sweeten the deal a little, lassie.”

“I am told that Lord Elrond is very wise,” said Sigrid, “and he faced Sauron first-hand, so he is likely to have some good ideas that will benefit all of us very much. And we do not suggest that either Elven delegation should stay in Erebor. Dale will accommodate them.” She smiled up at him, and took half a step closer. “But I’m afraid that for us to be able to do that, we will need to borrow a few more of your builders, and perhaps a plumber or a water engineer or two.” This time she flashed Dáin a grin. “You know how particular Elves are. We’ll need to be able to let them have washing facilities.”

Dáin let out a roar of laughter. “Indeed I do. Well, perhaps I should refuse you my plumbers, for the fun of seeing the prissy pixies having to go a few days without a nice warm bath.”

“We’d really appreciate it very much if you didn’t,” said Bard. “They’re already going to be uncomfortable enough, with the short time we’ve got to make the big house habitable for them, there’s no way we’d be able to get it up to their standards, even with the help of all your very fine builders.”

“No way, you say?” said Dáin indignantly. “Don’t you underestimate the efficiency of Dwarven builders, laddie. Autumn’s six months away yet, my boys and girls can have the place looking fine even by the pixies’ standards by then.” He paused, evidently realising that he had stepped into the trap Bard had laid for him. “If I decide to let you have them.”

“We could forgo some more of the payment Thorin promised us, if necessary,” said Bard. “We need builders and plumbers more than we need gold at the moment, after all.”

“Indeed you do,” said Dáin. “I’ll think about it. But you can write to the fairies and tell them to come in the autumn, and I suppose I can stand to talk to the woodland one twice in one year. But I’ll be expecting some sort of payment for my trouble, once you’re back on your feet in Dale.”

“We’ll throw you a feast or something,” said Sigrid. “And we’ll always be grateful to you.”

Dáin harrumphed. “Gratitude doesn’t stretch very far when there’s debts to be paid, lassie, but I suppose there’s not much else you can do at the moment.”

“As soon as we get the marketplace in order, we’re planning to get the markets back up and running again,” said Bard. “Including the toy market. Bofur tells me you’ve plenty of experienced toymakers who’d appreciate a chance to sell their wares.”

“Aye, we have,” said Dáin consideringly. “Jewel-smiths, too, who’ll need somewhere to trade. Which reminds me that if the Fairy Princess wants the rest of his white gems back, the ones that weren’t in that necklace, he’s going to have to ask me nicely himself.”

Bard only narrowly prevented himself from saying ‘you’ll be lucky’, but Tauriel stepped in. 

“I’m sure my King would be only too pleased to do so,” she said smoothly. “I know he very much appreciated the gesture of good faith you expressed by sending the necklace back to him.”

“Nice to know,” said Dáin, “but it’d mean more coming from him. He can tell me himself at Midsummer. Now, Balin, where’s that young scribe of yours? Get him to come here and draw up a couple of letters to the fairies that these three can take away with them, then everyone’s invitations can all be sent together.”

“I took the liberty of sending for him already, your Majesty,” said Balin, bowing low, and making a beckoning gesture; young Ori scuttled out of the shadows, looking distinctly unnerved and clutching a pen, an inkwell and a sheaf of paper.

“Entirely too many liberties being taken around here for my liking,” grumbled Dáin, but he did not seem too serious. “Right then, young Ori, two invitations, one to the woodland fairy and the other to the valley fairy, to talks in the autumn.” He harrumphed. “Might as well make it around the anniversary of the battle, then we can have a memorial ceremony as well. Seal the alliance with that, what d’you think?”

Ori began frantically scratching out his letters as Bard, Sigrid and Tauriel glanced at each other.

“That sounds like a very good idea, your Majesty,” said Bard. “Very fitting. I think everyone would appreciate a chance to pause, and to remember our dead.”

“Indeed,” said Dáin. “Now, Ori, get those letters sealed and give them to the Lord of Dale. I’ll think about your builders and your plumbers, laddie. Now, be off with you all, I’ve far more important things to be doing than talking to you lot.” He waved his hand, clearly dismissing them, and Bard bowed, Sigrid bobbed her curtsey and Tauriel made her salute before they turned to make their way back across the walkway with Balin and Ori. 

They had barely taken five steps, though, when Dáin called after them.

“What’s that in your hair?” he wanted to know, and Bard and Sigrid exchanged a glance. 

“Here we go,” muttered Bard under his breath, but Sigrid and Tauriel both grinned.

“Oh, I’m just trying out a different way of putting my hair up, your Majesty,” Sigrid said, patting the coronet of braids at the back of her head; Tauriel had done it for her that morning. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very fetching, lassie,” said Dáin, “but that wasn’t what I meant. Your da’s trying out a different hairdo as well, isn’t he? I know an Elven braid when I see one. Not to mention those very Elven-looking tiaras you’re both wearing.”

“Just thought I’d try it,” said Bard with a casual shrug. “It’s been a long while since I’ve had the time to do much with my hair, you understand.”

“Aye,” said Dáin. “Maybe you’ll want to try a Dwarven one next.”

“My brother Bain is very keen to try Dwarven braids,” said Sigrid smoothly, “although his hair isn’t really long enough yet. And only if it’s not considered rude for someone who isn’t a Dwarf to wear them, of course.”

“Not as long as they’re done by a Dwarf who can make the appropriate one for the situation,” said Dáin. “They all have their meanings, and you don’t get to claim something that’s not yours.”

“Of course not,” said Bard. “The customs of both our allies are very interesting to us, and we are keen to learn all we can.”

Dáin snorted, but he waved his hand in dismissal again, and they turned again to leave, following Balin out of the throne room and through the corridors back to the entrance again, Ori scuttling after them with the letters.

“That went better than I expected,” said Bard, once they were well out of earshot of the throne room. 

“I told you it would be all right, Da,” said Sigrid. “He likes us really, he just doesn’t want us to know it.”

“He was less rude about my King than I thought he would be,” said Tauriel thoughtfully, and Balin chuckled. 

“He’s in a good mood,” he said. “More of our people are arriving, repair works are going well, the work of sorting and cataloguing the treasure hoard is progressing - Ori’s having fun with that, aren’t you, laddie?”

“It’s very interesting,” said Ori, “but I think we’ll be at it for a long time yet, there’s so much of it.”

“Is there now,” said Bard with a smile, and Balin chuckled again.

“There is indeed. So I think Dáin can afford to be generous to you without even thinking about it; he just wants to keep you hanging on a bit. He’s enjoying himself.”

“Well, it’s not as though we’re in much of a position to do anything else except wait for him, and hope he’s feeling inclined to be generous,” said Bard. “But I do hope he is, because we could really do with some running water, and some help with doing up the big house.”

“I’ll put in a word for you, laddie,” said Balin. “And I expect Bofur will as well, because he’s having the time of his life over there. We’ve barely seen him in months. Now, Ori, hand those letters over, laddie, and let’s let our visitors get on. You’ll be wanting to get them sent as soon as possible, I should think.”

“That’s the plan,” said Bard casually, although he did indeed want to be able to send the letters back to the Woodland Realm with the empty cart, and for Thranduil to receive his own letter as soon as possible. “Thank you, Balin, as always.”

“Always glad to be of service to you and yours, laddie,” said Balin, eyes twinkling. “You give your lad and your wee girl my best, now.”

“We will,” said Sigrid, leaning in to hug Balin tightly “We’ll bring them with us next time, if you don’t mind, I know they’ll be interested to see everything that’s been going on since we were last here.”

“We’ll be glad to see them,” said Balin. “Now, off you all go, for I am sure you have more important things to be doing than hanging around gossiping with us. We’ll be glad to see you back again soon.”

“We’ll see you soon,” said Bard, and then they went to retrieve their horses from where they had tethered them outside the gate, and return across the plain to Dale. They had a packet of letters to assemble, and then countless other jobs to do that had built up in their absence, things to oversee, things to check and to approve. Their holiday was very definitely over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	63. A Packet of Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil receives word from his family in Dale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who like epistolary fics, this chapter is for you!

Thranduil passed the time after Bard and his family had left, while he waited to hear from them, walking in his gardens, reading in his library, and observing his guards in the training arena; sometimes he even deigned to spar with Feren or Meludir. It did not escape him that these were the activities the children had undertaken, sometimes in his company; he knew he was trying to temper the pain of missing them by occupying himself with things he knew they enjoyed, and it was only partially working. Mostly it only reminded him of how alone he was. But somehow it did make him feel a little better to see how Tilda’s plants were growing, to read some of the books he and Sigrid had discussed, and to discuss Bain’s progress with his lieutenant and his guards.

Sometimes, as the weather warmed, he would take a book and sit on the balcony, looking out across the forest towards Dale, schooling his thoughts so that he did not dwell on how much he missed them all, but thought instead of how soon it would be that he would be riding into Dale and seeing them again. 

But often his mind would wander, his eyes would fall closed, and he would have to admit to himself that he missed Bard with his heart and his mind but also with every inch of his skin; it was almost a physical ache. He could almost hear Bard’s soft, deep, lilting voice, could almost feel his touch, if he thought about it hard enough, but not quite, because Bard was not there. Thranduil missed him painfully; in some ways it was worse this time than over the winter, for although they had established what they felt for each other, now they had spent so much more time together, they had come to know each other so much more intimately. Although he had gone without the touch of another for centuries, now he found he ached at the loss, he missed Bard’s work-roughened hands smoothing over his skin, the brush of Bard’s thick, soft hair, his lips and his tongue and the scruff of his beard, the strength in his arms, his chest, the dusting of dark hair across his body, soft against his skin…and every room in Thranduil's chambers was full of memories that raised a smile and a shiver but reminded him of that ache all over again. He could do something about it, he supposed, but it would not be the same, it would only make him feel more lonely, it would only make him miss Bard more; his own hands were a poor substitute for Bard’s.

So he walked, and he read, and he sparred, and sometimes he managed to distract himself from his thoughts. And then, about a week after they had left, the empty cart arrived back, and the carter had a packet of letters with her which she delivered straight to Thranduil with her head bowed. 

“How were they?” he asked her, being sure to hide his true feelings and appear as regal and dismissive as usual, despite his concern for the family that nobody must know he now had. “How was the journey?”

“The journey was entirely uneventful, my King,” said the carter, “and I think the Lord of Dale and his family were pleased to return home and to see the progress the builders have made. And the people of Dale were most grateful for the supplies you sent.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil, and he knew he should not have expected any more detailed information, for the carter would not have had much opportunity to observe the family, nor did she know them well enough to be able to understand why Thranduil was asking; it was just as well, he supposed, but he was still disappointed. Still, there seemed to be plenty of letters, and he would have to content himself with those.

He dismissed the carter and took the packet of letters to the balcony, where he sat in his chair and prised the seal off the back of the packet, unwrapping it carefully. There were two letters to Elrond, one in Bard’s familiar, careful hand and the other in a blocky hand that must belong to one of Dáin’s people; Thranduil set them aside upon the table and moved on. There was another addressed to him in the same blocky, Dwarven hand, and then a pile all addressed to him in different hands; three in Bard’s - Thranduil raised his eyebrows, wondering what that signified - and then one in Sigrid’s neat writing, one in a scruffy hand that was probably Bain’s, another carefully lettered, presumably by Tilda, and lastly one lettered in a neat, Elven script that was clearly from Tauriel. 

Thranduil started with Tauriel’s letter; she wrote of the journey back to Dale, the progress that had been made on the rebuilding, and a meeting she, Bard and Sigrid had had with Dáin; apparently the King under the Mountain had been less hostile to the idea of talks with the Elves than they had expected. She closed with a more personal passage that made Thranduil smile, even as he missed her; _Adarhanar-muin-nín, we all miss you and look forward to seeing you again, and we hope you are not missing us too badly. The time will fly by, and soon it will be Midsummer and we will be able to welcome you back to Dale, which has changed very much since last you saw it._

Tilda’s letter was next, and it raised another smile for her unfiltered enthusiasm. _Dear Ada, we miss you very much but it is nice to see how Dale is getting on, Mister Bofur has mended the carousel, you remember him, he is the one with the hat, and he is going to help me with my gardens. And there’s an oak tree growing in the street, Da says Mister Baggins planted it during the battle and now it’s growing and we’re going to call it the Hope Tree because Da says it gave him back his hope and Mister Bofur is going to put a fence round it so nobody digs it up or breaks it or anything. Oh and I am going to plant all the plants you sent back with us, please say thank you to everyone and I’ll write again later to tell you how they are growing. Here is a picture of the Hope Tree, Da and Sigrid built a little wall round it until Mister Bofur can build the fence. Love from Tilda xxxxxxxxx_

Thranduil chuckled softly to himself; Tilda’s letter was as charming as the little girl herself, and her drawing of the tree was quite accomplished; she clearly had a talent for drawing as well as for gardening - and for charming people. 

Bain was next, and somewhat more succinct; the boy had clearly been writing at speed, probably so that he could rush off and train some more. _Dear Ada, thank you very much for the swords and the bows, they are amazing, Tauriel and I have shown them to my friends already and we have done some training, some of them have got the hang of it already especially Lotta and Erik and Gustav, I think you will be impressed when you visit. I hope to be good enough to be able to spar with you by the end of the summer. Thank you again, love Bain._ Thranduil smiled again, the boy had not yet actually called him ‘Ada’ to his face, but clearly felt comfortable enough with the name to use it in his letter, and that was more than he had expected. 

Sigrid’s letter was longer, as he had expected, two sheets of paper covered on both sides with her close, neat script. _Dear Ada, thank you so much for the books. I am partway through the History of the Second Age already, and I am also enjoying the book of Daeron’s poetry. I suppose you knew him as well! I am really looking forward to discussing them all with you at Midsummer, but in the meantime when I’ve read a bit more I shall write to you again and tell you what I think. We had a smooth journey home, and Dale is looking much better than it did when we left - and even better than it looked last time you saw it. Bofur thinks we should be able to get a wing of the big house ready for you by Midsummer, and I think King Dáin will be lending us the builders and plumbers we asked him for, because Da sort of challenged him about it - he said it couldn’t be possible to get the work done in time, and Dáin more or less said ‘just you watch me’ and I think he doesn’t want us to underestimate Dwarven builders, so I bet we’ll have a lovely house to put you in, and Lord Elrond and his people when they visit. Dáin was a bit funny about that but he agreed more easily than we expected, and he wasn’t nearly as rude about you as we thought he would be, but I’m sure he’s saving it up till you’re actually here! Da is all right, I know he misses you a lot, but he’s going to be too busy to mope too badly - at least I hope he is. I think it would be nice if you didn’t have to be apart so much but I suppose you both have lots to do. Oh, and we’re going to have an election, just to make sure that everyone still wants Da to be in charge, I think he’s hoping someone else will stand but of course there isn’t anyone. Not yet anyway! Anyway, I must close, or I’ll be writing all night, and I want to get to the next bit of the history book. I’ll write again soon, I’ve got lots of ideas for our alliances that I want to tell you about, but in the meantime I hope you’re not missing us too badly, and remember it’s only a couple of months until Midsummer. Love Sigrid xxx_

Thranduil paused, smiling, to look out over the forest for a moment. He could almost hear Sigrid’s voice telling him of their visit to Dáin, and her fierce determination that neither he nor her father should mope while they were apart. She was a delightful girl - well, all three children were delightful, but Sigrid seemed to understand him, although she was so young, and he was beginning to think of her as a friend, an equal, as well as a beloved child. He was looking forward to reading her opinions about the books he had sent, and her ideas for their alliances, and to discussing them with her when he saw her again. 

He had been saving Bard’s letters for last, but now they were the only ones left, and he decided to open the thickest one first, assuming the smaller ones had been written later, after the first had been sealed. He carefully prised up the seal with its thumbprint - they would have to see about getting Bard a proper seal matrix, but Thranduil hoped he would continue to use his thumb on personal letters to him - and unfolded the paper. 

_Beloved, I am writing this having just unpacked the boxes you sent with us, and I am once more speechless at your generosity. I did not expect the clothing nor the circlets, and I must thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of it. The children are overjoyed with all you have sent for them, and will be writing to you themselves. We miss you already, all of us, and I miss you quite terribly - I am not quite sure how I am going to last until Midsummer without seeing you. Already I cannot stop thinking about you, and the memories you gave me before I left you are - well, I can tell I’m going to struggle keeping a straight face sometimes! In the meantime I hope those same memories will distract you just as much, and I cannot tell you how much I wish it were Midsummer already and we could be continuing our negotiations here in Dale. But now the children are waking up and we must go and see the progress of the building work, so I must stop now, and leave you until next time, with a firm reminder that I love you very much and every day without you is almost painful, but I hope that one day I will not have to leave you again. In the meantime I am yours as ever - Bard._

Thranduil closed his eyes, a smile upon his lips, as he allowed the memories to take him for a moment, Bard’s skin against his, the soft sheets of his bed, the polished wooden surface of his desk, the warm water in the bath…he already knew he would be rereading Bard’s letter over and over again. But - but in the meantime there were two more notes to read, he reminded himself, and he collected his thoughts, opening them both. 

_Beloved, I find myself in need of advice as to how to care for young oak trees_ , Bard had written, somewhat hastily, in the first. _The little Halfling Mr Baggins planted an acorn in the street during the battle, when Gandalf and I had lost hope, and now it has grown into a little sapling, much to Tilda’s delight; I am sure she has told you about it. But we know less than nothing about trees, having grown up on the lake, and I have no idea how to look after it and make sure it continues to grow. I would appreciate any advice you and your gardeners can send. With all my love, your Bard._

Thranduil chuckled softly to himself again, making a mental note to set down the information for which Bard had asked, although some of his own experience would not work in Dale, bound up as it was with the magic of the Greenwood. Then he opened the other note, which was just as hastily-written. _Beloved, we have just returned from seeing Dáin and much to our surprise we did not have to argue too hard for the talks, so I enclose letters to you and to Elrond from him - not written by him personally, so I should think they will be fairly polite! I am hopeful that he will let us have the builders and plumbers we need, and the big house will be fit for you to stay in it by Midsummer - I may perhaps have challenged the skill of his workers and he may be feeling obliged to prove their worth. Now I really must go or you will be spending all day reading my ramblings when you have many other far more important things to do. With all my love again, your Bard. PS, he noticed the braid but I do not think he has yet worked out its significance. PPS, he says that if you want the rest of your white gems back you’ll have to ask him yourself. Just giving you advance warning so you can think of exactly what you want to say._

Thranduil let out a snort of laughter and then folded the three letters together and held them carefully between his fingers, a smile creeping across his face. He would read the official letter from Dáin later; for now he was content to sit for a while and think of his family, his beloved, and perhaps reread their letters once or twice. The ache of missing them had eased a little, for now, and although he knew it would return, he would be able to ease it again by rereading - and by writing replies. Many messengers would be passing between Dale and the Woodland Realm this spring, and he was sure it would be noted by Dáin’s people, but he did not care one bit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> adarhanar-muin-nín: my dear uncle (my own construction, literally: father-brother)  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	64. Awkward Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dáin summons Bard and Sigrid to talk about the builders they asked him for, and to ask some awkward questions.

A few days after their visit to the Lonely Mountain, Bard and Sigrid were standing in front of the lord’s house, talking over the suggestions Bofur had made for the rebuilding work, and Sigrid’s ideas for an election to choose Dale’s new leader, now that the upheaval of the previous autumn was over. 

“You could probably do it by a show of hands, Da,” said Sigrid. “I’d bet you any money you like that everyone’ll just put their hand up for you.”

“We’ve got to give other people an opportunity to stand, though,” said Bard. “If they want to. I don’t want to assume that everyone just wants me to do the job.”

Sigrid laughed. “You’re the best candidate, Da, and everyone knows it. But if you want, we could call everyone together in the main square and tell them we’re having an election and if anyone else wants to stand they can think about it for a week and then we can have the election. Everyone can write the name they want on a bit of paper and put it in a sealed box. Percy and Hilda would love to organise it, I bet.”

“I’ll ask them,” said Bard. “Unless they want to stand.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” said Sigrid. “Percy likes being Captain of the Guard, and I am sure Hilda is far happier organising things behind the scenes than being in charge.”

“We all know she’s really in charge anyway,” said Bard with a grin. 

“Well, exactly,” said Sigrid, just as a Dwarf from Erebor bustled up to them. 

“Message for the Lord of Dale from the King under the Mountain,” he said, sketching a rudimentary bow. “King Dáin wants to see you about your request for builders.”

“Now?” Bard asked, mildly; Dáin was rather in the habit of summoning him peremptorily, and before their stay in the Woodland Realm Bard had been attempting to indicate, very subtly, that he was not Dáin’s to order around, although subtlety did not appear to be one of the King under the Mountain’s strengths.

“If you’re not busy,” said the Dwarf, and Bard had to stifle a laugh. 

“I’m always busy,” he said, “but I can make an exception for the King under the Mountain. Can you give me half an hour? I have one or two things I have to finish up here first.”

The Dwarf considered for a moment, then harrumphed. “I suppose so. I’ll be making my way back. The sentries will be told to expect you.”

“Thank you,” said Bard, and the Dwarf sketched another bow and turned to make his way back down the street.

When he was out of earshot, Sigrid giggled quietly. “They don’t mince their words, do they? Well done for getting half an hour out of them.”

Bard chuckled. “I thought it was worth a try. We’ve made progress, anyway, from early on, when they’d insist I had to go with them right away.”

“True,” said Sigrid. “So what are you going to finish up?”

“Talking to my chief adviser about the renovations of the big house, of course,” said Bard with a grin. “Of course, then my chief adviser is going to have to come with me to visit the King, and we could probably finish the conversation on the way over there, but let’s just spend the time here first.”

Sigrid laughed. “Shall we take a look inside? Have you been in yet?”

“I’ve only ducked my head through the door,” said Bard. “It’s a bit of a mess in there.”

“Let’s have a look,” said Sigrid, stepping in through the main door. The entrance hall was tall and wide, and even taller than it should have been, as the ceiling had fallen in and the stairs had collapsed. There were doorways off the main hall, and Sigrid went over to one of them, putting her head through. “This looks like it would make a nice salon,” she said, glancing back at Bard. “There’s a fireplace, and it’s not too big. It’d be really cosy in the winter.”  
-  
Bard leaned in through the doorway next to her. “It’s a nice size,” he said. “You’re expecting us to need a salon, then?”

“Well, eventually,” said Sigrid. “We’ll not be living in that little house for ever, and if you do win this election we ought to move in here eventually. It’s the lord’s house, after all.”

“It’s too big for us,” Bard protested, and Sigrid rolled her eyes. 

“There’s four of us, Da. Five, including Tauriel, and six when Ada’s here, not to mention however many of his people he brings with him. And we’re all growing up, me and Bain and Tilda. We’re not going to have enough room in the house we’re in. Besides, the people are going to expect their lord to behave like one, and that includes living in the lord’s house.”

Bard sighed, but deep down he knew that Sigrid was right. And of course, if this was where Thranduil would have to stay when he visited, it would be better if the family were living here too.

They spent a little longer wandering around the house, looking into rooms and climbing over piles of rubble; it was certainly going to be a big job, but if Dáin saw fit to lend them some more builders, perhaps it might be possible to get it done.

When they felt half an hour had probably passed, they went to collect their circlets and get their horses saddled up, and rode across the plain towards the Lonely Mountain. 

“Do you think he’ll let us have the people you asked for?” asked Sigrid as they drew closer. 

“I hope so,” said Bard, “but who knows, with Dáin. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Balin was there to meet them, and they tethered their horses and greeted him warmly. 

“Come on in, come on in,” said the old Dwarf, “he’s waiting for you in one of the meeting chambers, so you don’t have to go through that rigmarole with the throne this time.”

“I imagine he was proving a point or two,” said Bard mildly, “and we did turn up without notice.”

“Aye, well,” said Balin. “You’re learning how to handle him, in any case, and he’s learning how to handle you.”

“Isn’t that what diplomacy is all about?” said Sigrid with a smile, and Balin chuckled as he ushered them into the meeting chamber, following them in. Ori was there already, sitting at the foot of the table with a pen and ink and a notebook, and Dáin was at its head. 

“Take a seat,” said Dáin, gesturing to the chairs at his left; Balin went and sat in the chair at his right. When they were settled, Dáin settled back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. “Well now,” he said, “I’ve thought about your request.”

“Thank you for giving it your consideration,” said Bard. “We’re most grateful.”

“I’m sure you are,” Dáin harrumphed. “As grateful as you are to the woodland sprite for the many cartloads of gifts he seems to be sending you, I wonder?”

Bard took a deep breath; _here we go_ , he thought. “I am grateful to both our allies for all the help they have given us since we lost our home on the lake,” he said carefully, and Dáin snorted.

“What’s tickling me is just _how_ you managed to get that help out of him,” he said. “He’s not exactly known for his generosity to other people. Or, indeed, his keenness to have allies. I have to ask himself what you’ve offered him in return that you’re not offering me.”

“I’ve promised him Dale’s loyalty as an ally, as I’ve promised it to you,” said Bard calmly. “The Elvenking is kinder than his reputation might suggest. He saw our great need and agreed to help us.”

“I’m sure he is, and I’m sure he did,” said Dáin, “if you’re making it worth his while. I have to ask myself what you were doing for a whole month in the forest with him. Bartering this young lassie to him, for instance, in exchange for supplies and a bit of special treatment?” Dáin gestured at Sigrid, and Bard gritted his teeth; he could feel Sigrid’s sudden furious tension beside him, could hear her sharply indrawn breath, though she held her tongue. 

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “My daughter’s life is her own and I will not use her as a bargaining piece. The same goes for my son, and my other daughter.”

“Hmm,” said Dáin. “Must be something else then. Maybe it’s yourself you’re selling? You’re a single man, and Mahal knows the fairies do things differently. Is that what that braid of yours means? That you’ve just spent a month playing hide-the-sausage in the forest with the Fairy Princess? Or perhaps I shouldn’t assume - _were_ sausages involved?”

Bard felt heat rising up his face, unstoppable, inexorable, and he knew he had to cover it, or Dáin would divine that he had guessed true. Anger would do, he thought, and he already knew that Dáin respected those who stood up to him. He pushed his chair back and made to stand. 

“I don’t have to listen to this,” he said. “Come on, Sigrid. The King under the Mountain can pay Thorin Oakenshield’s debt to us however he pleases.”

“And how will you make your city liveable, without my builders, my engineers?” asked Dáin, and Bard shrugged.

“We’ll manage. We managed before, in Lake-town. Besides, the Elves are skilled artisans, and they gave us a great deal of valuable practical help in the month after the battle. Perhaps I’ll ask their King if he can spare anyone to help us. He, at least, does not insult my honour, or that of my daughter.” He stood up, and offered Sigrid his arm. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

They got halfway to the door before Balin caught them up. “Come now, my lord, do you not know by now that my King likes to tease and to test? Don’t throw our alliance away over a few ill-chosen words.” The old Dwarf’s voice was soft but tense, and Bard thought he might have struck a nerve.

“Your King would do well to remember that he is speaking to the leader of his allies,” said Sigrid, her voice soft and steely but clear as a bell. “We are not supplicants come to beg for aid, we are allies who wish to negotiate for the payment of what we are owed.” 

Dáin harrumphed behind them; it was clear that he had heard Sigrid’s words, as she had intended him to. “Ach, come back here, you pair of eejits. Dwarves are meant to be the short-tempered ones.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice, and Bard had to bite back a smile of his own as he half-turned to face the Dwarven King.

“I will not have you insulting my honour, or insinuating that I am treating my two allies in any manner other than equally,” he said firmly. “Or that I am receiving anything resembling favourable treatment from the Woodland Realm, _or_ that I am under any sort of influence from that quarter. Besides, I am sure you do not wish to hinder Erebor’s future trading prospects. Of course, you remember Dale’s former position as the principal market city in the North, a position we intend to regain as soon as possible.”

“Fine, fine,” said Dáin, flapping a hand. “I still think there’s something going on between you and the princess, and I’ll be watching out for favourable treatment, as you so delicately put it. But for now I’ll happily lend you my builders.”

“And your plumbers and water engineers?” put in Sigrid. “I am sure they will relish the challenge of restoring Dale’s sanitation and watercourses to their former glory.” She gave Dáin a satisfied smile. “Besides, I should think Dale rebuilt will be a fine advertisement for the skills of the Dwarven people, for we are sure to have a great many important visitors once we are established.”

Dáin looked at her for a moment, and then burst into laughter. “You’re a cheeky wee lass, and no mistake,” he said. “No wonder your da’s been bringing you with him all this time.”

“She’s my chief adviser,” said Bard, “and more astute than anyone you could wish to meet.”

“Aye, aye, that she is,” said Dáin. “Now, are we agreed, I’ll send you my lads and lasses to get your place looking presentable for the pointy-eared dignitaries, and you’ll give us first dibs on your market when it’s up and running?”

“Alongside our people,” said Bard, “but yes. The people of Erebor will be welcome to trade in the marketplace in Dale, when it is ready.”

“We should probably draw up a proper treaty,” said Sigrid, and Balin nodded as Dáin made a considering noise. 

“Let’s save that for the summer when the Fairy King is here,” said Dáin. “Although if you and Balin want to get going on that, Miss Cheeky, you can have all the good bits drafted by the time His Sparkly Majesty arrives on his moose. You know you’re welcome here any time.” Dáin’s eyes were twinkling now, and Sigrid dipped a tiny curtsey.

“I’d love to. I was hoping to ask you, actually, if you’ve a library I might visit? I should like to learn as much as I can about both our allies, and I’ve already read quite a lot about the Elves. The Elvenking’s library is quite spectacular, but I’d like to read about your people, too. If you don’t mind.”

“The library is in remarkably good condition,” said Balin. “The dragon doesn’t seem to have been interested in it, though I suppose dragons aren’t built for reading books.”

“Have at the library, lassie,” said Dáin. “Can’t have you allowed in His Sparkliness’ library and not in mine. Balin’ll have to translate for you, mind. We don’t let outsiders learn our language.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, disappointed. “I was hoping to be able to learn - but if I’m not allowed then I understand.”

“You’ll have to prove yourself a proper Dwarf-friend first,” said Dáin, “and then we might think about it.”

“Then I’ll do my best,” said Sigrid. “I hope you understand that we wish to build lasting friendships with the Elves and the Dwarves - although given the history of animosity between your peoples, we aren’t going to expect you and the Elvenking to become best friends.” She flashed Dáin a grin and after a moment he laughed. 

“I should hope not! Go on, be off with you, Balin can show you the library, and your da and I will have a mug of ale and talk business.”

Bard raised his eyebrows a little, he had not been expecting hospitality as such, but Dáin seemed to be in a good mood and he supposed he should take it while it was offered.

So Sigrid and Balin went off to investigate the library, and Bard and Dáin sat and drank a mug of ale together, and began to talk over the works remaining to be done in Dale. Bard dared to hope that perhaps they might have the place looking at least mostly presentable by the time Lord Elrond and his people visited in the autumn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	65. All Hail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people of Dale hold an election, and choose their new leader. They have some ideas about the title he should use, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this around the time of That Election, but hopefully there is none of that nonsense here.

A couple of days after their second visit to the Lonely Mountain, Bard called everyone together in the main square in front of the great hall.

“We’ve been here six months or so now,” he said, pitching his voice so that it would carry to the back of the crowd, although there were far fewer people here than had lived in Lake-town, and fewer still than had made the trek up the hillside before the battle. “You’ve all let me lead you this far, but now things have settled down a bit, I want you to have a proper say on who really gets to be Lord of Dale. I don’t want to go on for ever assuming you’re happy for me to do the job.”

“Who else is there?” came a voice from somewhere in the crowd, and Bard laughed.

“Well, that’s what I got you all together to ask. If any of you want to take it on, if you think you want to have a go, if you can do the job better than I’ve been attempting to do it, please feel free to put your name forward, and we’ll have a proper election, make it formal.”

There was a brief moment of quiet, and then everyone started talking at once, a low hum of sound rippling across the square. Bard glanced at Sigrid, who was trying to suppress a grin. 

Suddenly a shout went up; Bard thought it was the same voice as before. “All in favour of Bard carrying on as Lord of Dale, put your hand up!”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Bard, “I’m not doing this on a show of hands,” but every single person in the square was putting their hand up, and Sigrid had the hand she wasn’t holding in the air pressed over her mouth to suppress her laughter.

“I think you’ve got your answer,” said Percy from Bard’s other side, and Hilda leaned round him, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“As if anyone else would step up to take this from you,” she said. “You’re doing a brilliant job, young man, and there’s not a one of us would throw that back in your face.”

“I’m not doing it like this!” Bard protested. Turning back to the crowd he gestured for them to put their hands down, but they only started cheering and nothing he could do would quiet them.

“Let them have this, Da,” said Sigrid beneath the noise, “they’ve had a hard few months. They’ll let you talk in a minute or two.”

And so it proved; eventually the noise died down and everyone was looking expectantly at Bard, who was blushing scarlet despite his best efforts not to.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’m very honoured, but honestly, I’m not going to do this on a show of hands, much as I respect your decision. I want to give you all a week to think about it, and if any of you want to stand for election, you tell Percy. Then a week after that we’ll have the election - properly, mind, with bits of paper and a sealed ballot box, and _then_ we’ll have a party, because goodness only knows, I think we all need one.”

Another cheer went up, and Bard shook his head, grinning. He knew every single person in that square; either they’d known him since he was a child, or he’d known them since they were children, and he had to admit that their confidence in him was gratifying. But he still did not feel comfortable assuming leadership on the strength of Alfrid’s proclamation on the lake shore and a show of hands now. They had to do this properly; it was important, possibly more important than anything else.

So he waited a week, passing the time on a thousand and one tasks, from overseeing repairs to talking to the Dwarven builders about the lord’s house to discussing logistics with the water engineers to scouting out sites for market gardens with Tilda. He inspected Bain’s fledgling guards at their weapons practice, and talked about the fair distribution of supplies with Hilda and Agnes. Sigrid and Tauriel visited the Lonely Mountain to begin discussions about the treaty to be drawn up between the three allies, and came back with any number of ideas that they talked about, the three of them, until late in the night. 

He was also waiting for a letter from Thranduil, but mostly he managed to put that longing aside, to forget about it during his waking hours and confine it to the moments before he fell asleep, and those after he woke up, before he had to get up and get on with yet another day’s business. So far he had not had too much time to dwell on how much he missed his beloved, but deep in the night he would lie alone in his bed, staring into the darkness, and he would miss Thranduil’s presence and his touch and his voice with a painful intensity. But there was nothing to be done about it, he told himself, except to wait until Midsummer when they would be together again.

The week passed, and at the end of it Percy came to him and told him that nobody had stepped forward. 

“So you’re standing unopposed,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Is there any point in going through the whole rigmarole at all?”

“Of course there’s a point to it,” said Bard. “I want everything to be transparent and honest here. It has to be exactly the opposite to how it was in Lake-town. If anyone wants to write in another name on their bits of paper, they can, but I’m not robbing them of the opportunity to have their say properly.”

“Well, it’s up to you,” said Percy, “you’re the boss.”

“For now,” said Bard with a slightly helpless laugh. “I didn’t sign up for any of this, mind.”

“No, but you’re the one best suited to the job, lad, and you always have been,” said Percy firmly. “I’ve always thought so, right from when you were a little fellow making the Master’s guards’ lives a misery with your pranks. You’ve always had an eye for what’s right and what’s wrong, and you’ve never been afraid to raise your voice about it. We’re all behind you. D’you know, people are saying you ought to be King of Dale, not just Lord, for what you did for us.”

Bard just looked at him for a moment, horrified and speechless. “King?” he managed eventually, rather weakly.

“You heard me,” said Percy. “Who else round here defied the Master when nobody else dared to, who else slew the dragon, who else led us here and organised us for the battle, who else made alliances out of nothing, with people who wouldn’t ordinarily have given us the time of day? You did all of that, Bard, and we’re all as proud as we can be of you.”

Bard shook his head, but Percy would not let him demur. 

“You did all of it, lad, there’s no getting away from that, and you’re still doing it. None of us want you to stop. Hold your election if it makes you feel better about it, but I’ll tell you now, we’d see you crowned King for your lifetime if you’d take it.”

“If we had a crown,” said Bard, deflecting the true meaning of Percy’s words because he couldn’t quite bear to think about it, “which we don’t.”

“It’s probably in that mountain somewhere,” said Percy, “the dragon probably had it after he did for Girion. I’m sure it won’t be stamped ‘Property of the Lord of Dale’ so even if the Dwarves do discover it they won’t know it’s ours. But I’m sure we could ask them to craft us a new one. I know you’ve got your circlets from the Elves, the four of you, but you’ll need something a bit grander for the ceremonial stuff, won’t you?”

Bard pulled a face, but he had to admit that Percy was right. “I’ll talk to Dáin,” he said. “If everyone really is going to insist that I have to be King.”

“They really are going to insist,” said Percy, and that was that. 

Another week passed, and then everyone over the age of sixteen summers filed past a table set up in the square, scribbling on pieces of paper, folding them and dropping them into a sealed wooden box that Balin, Ori, Óin and Glóin had brought from the mountain; Bard had asked Dáin to send a couple of independent observers, just to make sure everyone knew that whatever the outcome, everything had been done as properly as possible. 

Sigrid made Bard come with her to cast their votes; he had not been intending to participate, feeling distinctly awkward about the whole performance now that he had insisted upon it, although he knew that it was the right thing to do. But Sigrid insisted, and while she dropped her fold of paper into the box, Bard hesitated over his; he really could not bear the idea of voting for himself, the oily voice of the Master echoing in the back of his mind. He debated with himself for a moment, and then folded his piece of paper up without writing anything on it, and dropped it into the box. 

“Can we go and do something else now, please, sweetheart?” he asked Sigrid, and she grinned at him. 

“Course we can, Da. Tilda’s up behind the big house with Bofur, planting vegetables, let’s go and see how they’re getting on.”

So they went and spent a very pleasant afternoon with Tilda and her Dwarven friend, listening to Tilda’s explanations about all the different sorts of vegetables the Elves had sent her home with, how long they would take to grow and what sort of care they needed. Bofur chimed in here and there with his own bits of knowledge and Sigrid asked him how he knew about gardening.

“I mean no disrespect, but as I understand it you’re a miner by trade, aren’t you? And you didn’t really have the chance to settle anywhere very long.”

“No offence taken, my lady. It’s true I’ve mostly worked under the ground, not on top of it, but you spend enough time on the surface, talking to people, you pick up all sorts of things. Like I know about kingsfoil now, thanks to Óin and Lady Tauriel and your da, and I think we all know it isn’t a weed after all, by now.” He grinned at them, and Bard chuckled, he would not soon forget the lessons he learned that night.

“We’ll make sure to grow some here, won’t we, Tilda, just in case we ever need it again.” He reached out to ruffle his youngest daughter’s hair, and to wipe a smear of mud from her face. 

“Course we will, Da. I never knew it was magical, but you should have seen Tauriel with it. She was glowing! And the gardeners in the Woodland Realm, they told me lots about it. And lots of other things that you can use for healing people. We’ve got some to plant, it’s one of the things they sent back with us, a whole case of medicine-herbs, but I haven’t decided where to put them yet.”

“Oh, a physic-garden,” said Sigrid, “that sounds like a wonderful idea. We should put it somewhere everyone can get to it, so that if anyone needs anything, they can have it. I think Hilda knows a bit about that sort of thing, and I’m sure the Elvenking would send us a book about it if we asked him to.”

“You’ll be wanting to talk to Óin about it too,” said Bofur, “he’s our healer, and a very good one he is too. Loves to talk about all that stuff. I’d bet he’d know if we’ve got books in the library you could borrow, as well.”

“There you go, Tilda, something else for you to be doing,” said Bard with a smile. 

Tilda clapped her muddy hands together. “Oh good! I’d like to grow things to heal people, as well as growing things for people to eat. Can we make a physic-garden next, Da?”

“Of course you can, kitten,” said Bard, ruffling her hair again and tucking it out of her eyes. “You’re in charge of the gardening, like Sigrid’s in charge of the library and Bain’s in charge of the weapons training.”

“And like you’re in charge of everything, Da,” said Sigrid with a knowing smile. “Shall we go and see how they’re getting on?”

“Do we have to?” groaned Bard, but he let her pull him to his feet anyway, and they left Tilda and Bofur to their gardening, heading back to the main square. 

They met Hilda halfway; she was bustling up the street evidently looking for them, for she hailed them with a cry when she caught sight of them. 

“All hail King Bard! Well done, my lovely, it’s all counted, and not a one of them said anything other than ‘King Bard’. Except one that was blank, but that hardly matters.” She gave him a hard look and then grinned at him. “I’m so proud of you, lovely. I only wish your Maudie were here to see it.”

“Me too,” said Bard, swallowing down a sudden lump in his throat at her words; Maudie would have been endlessly amused at the thought of him being a king, he knew it. “So it’s all done and I have to keep doing this?”

“It’s all done and you have to keep doing it,” said Hilda. “They’re setting up the benches and the ale-barrels as we speak.”

“I told you so, Da,” said Sigrid. “Come on, let’s go back and get Tilda and Bofur. Hilda, will you go to the practice ground and get Tauriel and Bain? We all ought to be there to kick off the party, don’t you think?”

“Course I will, m’dear,” said Hilda, setting off at a brisk pace, leaving Bard and Sigrid standing in the middle of the street, just looking at each other for a moment. Then Sigrid launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Bard caught her up, burying his face in her hair for a moment. 

“I told you so,” she said again. “Everyone loves you, and they’ve chosen you twice over now. Can you just learn to believe in it?”

“I’ll try,” Bard said, setting her back on her feet. “I promise. It’s just…it’s not who I ever thought I’d be. Your Mam would be in fits of laughter at the thought of it.”

“She’d be bursting with pride too though, and you know it,” said Sigrid. “And she’d be saying she told you so, too.” She giggled. “And now you have to write to Ada and tell him, so that he can write back and tell you _he_ told you so.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard. “I haven’t the first idea what I’ll say, though.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “You really don’t like the idea of blowing your own trumpet, do you? Look, you tell him what you like, and I’ll write and tell him what actually happened, how’s that? I’m sure we’re due a letter from him any day now anyway, so we can wait for that to turn up and then write back.”

Bard sighed, trying not to think about how much he missed Thranduil, not right now. “All right, sweetheart. Come on, then, let’s go and get Tilda and Bofur and go and get that party kicked off before everyone changes their minds.”

“They won’t, Da,” said Sigrid, tucking her hand through his arm, “but let’s get on with it anyway.” 

And off they went, back up to the big house to collect Tilda and Bofur, and then back down to the main square. _I might as well get used to it_ , thought Bard, _this is my life now, and if the people want me to do this, I’d better do my best at it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	66. The Crown Of My Ancestors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard ends up with a coronation, and a celebration.

When they reached the square, they found the party already getting going; the benches were out, the ale barrels had been opened, and brimming mugs were already being handed round. Bard hoped, for one wild moment, that he might be able to sneak in without being noticed, but almost as soon as he had formed the thought, Percy spotted him and sent up a cry of, “All hail King Bard!” and that was that. The whole square echoed with the cry, and much as Bard wanted to hide his face in his hands, he let Sigrid propel him to the top of the steps and waited until the noise died down again.

“Thank you,” he said, “I think. For putting your trust in me, to do this job, to rebuild Dale and make us a force to be reckoned with again. And for trusting me not to turn into the Master, because that’s the last thing we need and I’ll do my absolute level best not to.”

“You never could,” yelled Hilda from somewhere in the square, and a chorus of assent rippled around her. “You’re a good man, Bard, and a damn sight better looking than he ever was.”

Cheers and applause went up at that, and Bard really did hide his face in his hands at that. “Give over, Hilda,” he said when everyone was quiet enough that he’d be heard. “I didn’t exactly ask for this, but you all know I’ve always cared for my people, back in Lake-town and here in Dale, and I’ll always be looking out for your best interests. I’ll swear that to you now on my life.” He grinned. “And if I have to have a title to be able to do that, and if it absolutely has to be King, then I suppose I’ll have to take it.”

Another cheer went up, and when it faded Percy stepped forward, holding something golden and gleaming between his hands. 

“Speaking of which,” he said, his voice carrying across the square, “our Dwarven friends found this in the mountain. I know we joked about it, you and I, and we said how unlikely it would be for a crown to turn up stamped ‘Property of the Lord of Dale’, but this one, it turns out, has the arms of the city engraved on it, and so, rightfully, by birth and by election, this belongs to you.” He held the thing up high so everyone could see it, and Bard just got a glimpse of it, a crown, perhaps a couple of inches high, maybe three, set sparingly with red jewels, some engraving - and then Percy was setting it on his head and the cheers were suddenly almost deafening, almost overwhelming. Bard felt Sigrid slipping her hand into his and he gripped it tight, feeling bewildered and confused and more than a little bit lost. But he held his head high and looked out over the tops of everyone’s heads; he couldn’t meet anyone’s eye, he felt far too awkward for that. 

And then everyone was crowding around him, slapping him on the back and hugging him and congratulating him, and through it all he kept his tight hold on Sigrid’s hand. The clamour of voices was almost too much, and he found himself wishing quite intensely that Thranduil were here, with his almost preternatural air of calm and control. 

But eventually they stood back again and Bard was able to pull himself together enough to speak. 

“I think after that, I most definitely need a drink, and so do all of you,” he said. “Can someone fetch me an ale, please, and then I did promise you a party, so you can all feel well and truly obliged to get on with it.”

Yet another cheer went up, and then Bain and Tilda were there, pushing through the crowd to hug him and just for a moment he took the time to wrap all three of his children up in his arms and hold them tight. 

“You’re a King, Da!” squealed Tilda, and she pulled on his sleeve until he bent down enough that she could whisper in his ear, “With a pretty crown! Just like Ada!”

“I suppose I am, kitten,” he said. “I hadn’t thought of that.” But it was a good point, he supposed; now he really did hold the same rank as Thranduil, and that made him feel a little better about everything.

Someone pressed a mug of ale into his hands, then, and he took a long drink, grateful to have something to concentrate on for a moment. 

“Well done, laddie,” came Balin’s voice through the throng, and the crowd parted to reveal Balin, Ori, Bofur, Óin and Glóin pushing forward to shake his hand and offer their congratulations, and then - 

“Look at you, a King! Well, you’re a better shot than your great-grand-da or however far back he was, I’ll grant you that!” Dáin’s full-throated bellow, as loud as he had been on the battlefield, echoed around the square, and the crowd parted again as he made his very regal way up the steps. Bard stared for a moment - he had not expected the King under the Mountain to stir himself to come across to Dale for this - and then he pulled himself together; actually, he thought, he was rather touched. 

“King Dáin,” he said, nodding respectfully. “I’m honoured that you’ve come to our celebration.”

“Celebration, pfft,” snorted Dáin. “Coronation, you mean, although it’s the least ceremonial one I’ve ever seen. Nice crown, though. Damn sight better than that nancy Elven circlet you’ve been wearing to come and see me just lately. I’m sure the Princess’ll be spitting feathers when he hears.”

“I thank you and your people for finding the crown of my ancestors, and for being so kind as to send it back to us. I’ll do my best to be worthy of it,” said Bard smoothly, although inside he was struggling to keep a straight face; he suspected Thranduil might well be a little displeased at the thought of the Dwarves supplying his crown, but then he and Dáin were both going to have to get used to the idea of Bard’s independence when it came to his city and his people.

“Ach, go on with you,” said Dáin, “you’re a good man, you’ll be a good King. Now, where’s my ale? We’ve got a good bit of drinking to do!”

Ori scuttled off towards the ale barrels, returning with two handfuls of mugs, and soon all the Dwarves were toasting to Bard’s success, and Bard himself was feeling distinctly in need of a sit down. Gradually the Dwarves and the children made their way down the steps to the nearest table, and before Bard quite realised what had happened Sigrid was steering him onto the end of a bench and shuffling in next to him. 

“Are you all right, Da?” she asked him, under cover of the Dwarves’ conversation, and he blinked a couple of times, taking a deep breath before he replied.

“I think so, sweetheart,” he said. “I suppose it’s not exactly a surprise, but at the same time I never expected any of this -" he gestured to the crown, the square, the Dwarves, Dáin. “I didn’t really think about what it means, to be not just a lord but a king.”

“What it means,” said Sigrid, “is that you go on just as you were before. All this is, is confirmation that the people want you doing the job, and they’ve decided what that job should be called. They don’t want you putting on airs, or behaving like other kings do,” she glanced very briefly at Dáin, and then flashed him a smile that he knew meant she was thinking of Thranduil, “they want you being you, still. Standing up for the rights of the ordinary people, being the protector of the common folk that you always were in Lake-town. Keeping an eye on our allies, making sure the rebuilding goes all right, all the hundred and one other things you’ve been doing since we got here. That’s all. You don’t _need_ a crown or a title for that, but the people - our friends - have decided they want you to have them. So - here we are. Nothing’s changed, Da, honestly.” She nudged him in the ribs. “So drink your ale, and enjoy your day.”

“You’re right, as always,” said Bard. “Which is why you are my chief adviser. All right then, ale it is.” He took a mouthful from his mug, and felt a little better. 

“That’s better,” Sigrid grinned, just as Hilda swept past with two handfuls of brimming mugs to pass out to those who did not yet have them.

“There you go, young lady,” she said, doling one out to Sigrid. “I think you deserve one of these just as much as your dad does. Which is quite a lot, I might say. Look at you with your crown on! I could burst with pride.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” said Bard, smiling up at her. “There’s a few people I could wish were here to see this, not least Maudie, and my mam and da, but I’m glad you and Percy are here, after everything that’s happened.”

“So am I,” said Hilda. “Dale is so much nicer than Lake-town, and you’re definitely a damn sight better than the Master, and Alfrid. I’m not at all sorry they went the way they did!”

“I shouldn’t say it, but nor am I,” said Bard. “We should probably have another go at salvaging what’s left out of the lake, now the spring is here. I’m pretty sure the Master’s boat full of treasure is still down there.”

“You just say the word, my lovely, we’ll round up all those fit young things your lad’s been training, and send them down to the lake to see what they can dredge up. Best all that gold be put to a better use than the Master put it to, or than sitting at the bottom of the lake.”

“Well, exactly,” said Bard. “Perhaps next week, once we’ve got all of this out of the way.” He gestured round at the square, at the scaffolding on the great hall, at the shell of the lord’s house just visible up the street. 

“It’ll take longer than a week to get all this out of the way, Da,” said Sigrid, but she was smiling. “I think we can spare a day or two to go and finish salvaging what we can from the ruins.”

“Then we’ll do it,” said Bard. “Enough time has passed that hopefully it won’t be too hard to look at. We’ll have to work out what to do with what’s left of the dragon, though.”

“What’s that? What’s left of the dragon?” barked Dáin from across the table. “Thinking of going down to the lakeside, are you?”

Bard explained what he and Hilda and Sigrid had been talking about, and Hilda excused herself to take the rest of her mugs to those who needed them. 

“Plenty of gold down there, is there? Well, you’ll be wanting that back, I should imagine,” said Dáin. “And perhaps you won’t be needing what my cousin promised you. Not that I’ll go back on his word so easily, but it seems to me you can establish Dale quite well, if what you say is true.” He grinned. “So maybe I’ll be paying off that debt in workers and building materials after all.”

“We’d certainly be grateful for your help with the big house,” said Bard, and Dáin reached over the table to crash his beer mug against Bard’s. 

“Can’t have you looking bad in front of the picky pointy-ears,” he said. “We’ll see you right, laddie. Dwarves are the hardest workers of anyone, and you’ll be putting up your fancy guests in style.”

“I thank you,” said Bard. “The generosity of the people of the Lonely Mountain will be forever remembered by the people of Dale, and our friendship will last as long.”

“I should hope so too,” said Dáin. “And I’ll drink to it.” He did so, and Bard and Sigrid followed suit, each taking a long drink from their mugs, and then Bofur raised his mug high.

“To friendships made, and better times ahead!” he cried. “And especially to this particular friend, who took us in when we needed him, when he didn’t have to, when it caused him considerable trouble to say the _least_. They do say good deeds come back to you threefold, and there’s nobody deserves this good fortune - and this crown - more than him. To Bard - Dwarf-friend and rightful King of Dale!”

“To Bard!” chorused the Dwarves and Sigrid, clashing their mugs together and then drinking deeply, and Bard, feeling thoroughly awkward, made his reply. 

“I’m sure I don’t deserve half of that praise,” he said, “but I thank you for it anyway, and I’ll certainly drink to better days ahead.” He took a mouthful of ale, and Tilda wriggled off the bench opposite him, where she had been sitting between Bofur and Ori, and ran round to throw her arms around his neck.

“Of course you deserve it, Da,” she said. “You deserve all of it. You’re the best man in all the world.”

“You’re biased, kitten,” said Bard, laughing, “but I thank you anyway.” He drew her onto his lap, slipping an arm around Sigrid, and the other around Bain when he came to sit on his father’s other side. Better days ahead, indeed. It would be a lot of hard work, but that better life he had spoken of to Thranduil was beginning to seem a little closer, almost within his grasp at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes my total number of words posted to AO3 over 500,000! I can't quite get my head round it. And almost 340,000 of those words have been posted here since June 2020 (and almost all of those have been written in that time too)! Not to mention that this story has gone over 4000 hits in the last few days, and is only a couple of hundred words off 140,000. Phew. Thank you all so much for showing up, reading, commenting, kudos'ing, and generally making my 2020 infinitely better, especially in the last two or three weeks, which have been particularly rough (one of our beloved elderly cats was given a terminal diagnosis in November, and we had to put her to sleep last weekend; I am heartbroken, and mostly coping via fic). I love you all. <3333333
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	67. Every Word By Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil writes some letters to his family.

Thranduil left it a day or two before he replied to all the letters he had received. He wanted to reread them first, over and over, until he knew every last word by heart, and consider exactly how he wanted to respond to each one. 

He had to be careful not to lose track of time, he knew. Before, the seasons could slip past almost in the blink of an eye, the years could turn and he would barely notice, but now it was vitally important that he did not let the days blend one into another, for every single day counted in the lives of his beloved and of his new family. If he let his concentration lapse, he might miss years of their lives, and he could not risk that happening. So he kept an eye on the sun rising and setting, he paid close attention to the plants in the garden and the leaves on the trees, and he marked the days upon a piece of parchment that he kept on his desk. He would note when he had received letters, and when he sent replies, so that he could be sure he had not lost track of the days.

On the third day after he had received the letters he sat down at his desk with them, and uncapped the inkwell, dipping his pen in the ink and beginning to write. He started with Tilda, as the easiest to write. 

_Dear Tilda, I thank you very much for your lovely letter. I hope that all of your plants are growing well by now, and I look forward to seeing your gardens when I visit at Midsummer. The oak tree must have been a wonderful surprise for you all and your beautiful picture makes me feel as though I am there with you looking at it. I hope you and your friends are having fun with the carousel. It was very kind of Mr Bofur to mend it for you. Now, I hope you will write to me again soon to tell me all about what you have been doing, for it brightens my day very much to hear from you. With love from your most affectionate Ada._

He smiled as he set the letter aside for the ink to dry; he wondered whether Tilda had ever had occasion to receive a letter before, one written just for her. Well, this would be the first of many.

Bain was next, and his letter was fairly easy too, just as straightforward as the lad himself. _Dear Bain, I am glad you like the swords and bows, and that you and your friends are getting on well with them. I shall look forward to seeing your progress when I see you again. Perhaps I shall be able to help Tauriel with your training._ He paused, thinking; he did not want to sound too formal, but of all the children Bain was the one he knew the least. He would have to remedy that, in the summer. Perhaps training Bain and his friends himself might be a good way of doing so. _Besides_ , he continued, _it has been a long time since I have had the opportunity to pass on my skills with the dual blades, and it will be an honour to teach them to you. You must keep me updated as to how you and your friends are getting on, and if you have any questions about tactics or defence strategy, I will be only too pleased to try to answer them. With love from your most affectionate Ada._ He signed the letter in the same way he had signed the one to Tilda - he wanted to treat them all equally, and although he was not as yet as close to Bain as he was to the girls, he had not missed the boy’s enthusiasm for weapons training and acquiring the tactical and strategic skills that defending the city of Dale would require him to learn. And Bain had addressed his letter to ‘Ada’ and signed it with ‘Love Bain’; Thranduil felt that was a good enough indication that the lad liked him and was happy with his presence in their family.

Thranduil re-read Sigrid’s letter a couple of times before he began his reply; he did not want to miss anything. _Dear Sigrid,_ he began, _I was delighted to read your letter and to know that you are enjoying the books. I did indeed know Daeron, a little, but I am afraid that in my youth I was not particularly interested in poetry or song, and I did not bother to get to know him well. It is said that he still wanders far to the East, but I do not know if that might be true. I am glad to hear that the building works are progressing well, and I hope that Dáin is not too difficult about providing the workers you need, although I am sure he will enjoy placing obstacles in your father’s way, and I am greatly looking forward to sparring with him across the conference table. I hope that your father is finding enough to occupy himself and is not missing me too badly, although I must confess that I am missing him, and all of you, very much. But I am keeping myself busy and Midsummer will be here soon. You must let me know how the election goes, for I am sure your father will be far too modest when he tells me about it. I look forward very much to reading your thoughts about the books, and about the alliances, and to discussing them with you when I see you._ He paused for a moment, and smiled. He had many things to look forward to, when he visited Dale at Midsummer, not least long discussions with Sigrid about history and politics, and a few bracing arguments with Dáin. _In the meantime, I hope you will continue to enjoy the books and let me know how you are all getting on, and I will see you all very soon._ He signed off as he had the letters to Tilda and Bain, equal treatment for all of them.

He sat back in his chair for a moment, contemplating what he would write to Tauriel. _Do not let Dáin intimidate any of you,_ he wrote, _although I think you know better than that by now. He is full of bluster but I believe he is honourable and he knows that his people owe Dale a debt twice over, once because Thorin Oakenshield promised them gold which he did not pay, and once because Oakenshield’s folly woke the dragon and destroyed Lake-town, which is perhaps a debt which cannot be paid at all. He will help, but he will not be quiet about it._ Thranduil snorted to himself; Dáin would certainly not be quiet about his help, he would fuss every step of the way, he would make Bard work for every single thing, but in the end he would acquiesce. He wrote a little more about the talks, and then moved on to family matters. _I am glad Bain and his friends are enjoying their training, and I look forward to seeing their progress at Midsummer, as I look forward to seeing all of you. I have found the children to be a delight and I miss them - my halls are very quiet without them. And of course I miss you, and I miss Bard quite terribly. But I remind myself daily that Midsummer is not so very far away and I will see you all again very soon, and in the meantime I am trying not to close myself off or to lose track of time as I did before. I think receiving letters regularly will help, so perhaps as your King I should command you as my ambassador to send me frequent updates; but then I think that I do not need to, for you all seem inclined to write to me anyway._ He smiled to himself as he signed the letter and laid it aside for the ink to dry, and began to consider his letter to Bard.

He sat for a moment with a blank sheet of paper in front of him on the desktop, and then a memory came to him and he smiled and picked up his pen. _Meleth-nín, I am sitting at my desk to write this letter to you, and I cannot help the smile that has come to my face at the memory of the alternative use we found for it during our diplomatic negotiations while you were here with me. I miss you quite painfully, but my memories sustain me, and the knowledge that I will be with you again soon. I am glad you are pleased with the clothes, and I hope you have been wearing the circlets for your talks with Dáin; you are a man of rank and he should learn to respect that. I hope that he is not proving too difficult, but you must stand up to him and not let him push you around. Meanwhile, I hope that the building works are progressing well, and Tilda has told me about the oak tree and what it means to you all. The best thing you can do for it is to make sure it is protected, and watered just enough that it does not begin to wilt and the soil around it does not dry out. From Tilda’s drawing it is quite advanced for a six-month seedling, and I wonder where the Halfling got it from. If it is a tree of the Greenwood I may have some affinity with it and may be able to help it on its way and protect it. I have sent on the packet of letters for Elrond, and hope that he will soon reply. An alliance between us will be most important in these difficult times, and we will be stronger if we can face the Enemy together. And I extend that to you and me, too, for we will be each other’s strength in difficult times, whether we are together or apart. I do not quite know what I did with my life, before I met you, but now I have you and although I miss you painfully, I know it will not be long before I see you again. And in the meantime, as you do, I have my memories to tide me over. Meleth-nín, I will see you again soon and we will continue our most delightfully diplomatic negotiations, but in the meantime remember the sensation of my touch and my kiss and know that I am remembering yours with almost every waking thought. And know that I remain, as I ever will, utterly yours - Thranduil._ He paused, and then added a post-script. _PS I have asked Sigrid to tell me about the election when it happens, for I know you are too modest to give me an accurate account._

Then he laid down his pen and sat down in his chair, allowing his imagination to run away with him for a little while. Midsummer could not come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal; 'papa')  
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> By the way, if any of you are feeling in need of ridiculous seasonal fluff, I'm writing a Christmas movie AU featuring these two and all their respective kids; you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072815). 
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	68. Gold In The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard, Sigrid, Bain and Tauriel take a crew of people to investigate the ruins of Lake-town, in hopes of finding the Master's treasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight content warning for mentions of memories of what they all saw while they were escaping from Lake-town, and a brief description of what's left of Smaug's corpse. Do proceed with caution.

A couple of days after the election, Bard gathered up a party to go and investigate what was left of Lake-town, leaving Percy and Hilda behind to keep an eye on things in Dale. Sigrid came with him of course, and Tauriel, Bain and some of his friends, and some of the men and women of fighting age. They would all need to be fit, especially if they ended up having to dive into the lake to rescue the Master’s treasure from the bottom. 

They took a couple of wagons with them, just in case, so it was fairly slow going down the hillside, but eventually they reached the lake shore, and then it was not so far to the ruins of their old home. 

Bard let out a whistle when they came over a rise in the ground and saw what was left of Lake-town spread out before them, and Sigrid pressed her fingers to her mouth for a moment against a cry of dismay. Blackened timbers and broken stonework sticking up out of the water were all that was left of the place they had both lived all their lives. Bard supposed it made sense, for the fire had burned long after they had all made their escape; it had lit the sky all around well into the second night after the dragon’s attack. But it was one thing to know it, and quite another to see it. 

“It’ll be a wonder if the treasure isn’t all melted together into a big lump,” said Sigrid after a moment, sounding a little wobbly. “Then we’d never get it out.”

“Don’t bet on it, sweetheart,” said Bard. “I should think the Dwarves would be able to rig up some contraption or other, if they had to. And with a little bit of luck, we might not have to deal with the dragon’s corpse at all, or - or any others. They might well all have burned to ash.”

Sigrid shuddered. “I don’t know if I’m more relieved or horrified,” she said. “To think of all those people, just…burning. And some of them not even dead yet, when they burned.”

Bard nodded; he had seen some terrible things while he and Bain made their escape after the dragon fell, and he had not yet felt able to talk about them. He knew that Bain, too, had been deeply affected by what he had seen, and he was glad that the lad was engaged in conversation with Tauriel and his friends and did not yet seem to have noticed the ruins. 

He had given Bain the choice whether to come or to stay behind in Dale and work on his knife skills, but Bain had been adamant about coming with them to help with the salvage work, and Bard had not felt he could do anything other than acquiesce, though he had reservations about how Bain would react when he actually realised where they were, and remembered what had happened last time he had been there. 

“I’m glad Tilda isn’t here,” said Sigrid, as they rode closer. “I can put it to the back of my mind, mostly, but I think she wouldn’t be able to look past it.”

“I think she’s better off in Dale with Hilda,” said Bard. “She said she couldn’t possibly leave her plants, anyway.” He couldn’t help a smile at that, at the thought of his busy little girl in her gardens, checking every day to see what had grown, tending and watering and weeding. 

“She’s really found her purpose, hasn’t she?” said Sigrid with a smile. “And to think that if we’d stayed here, she’d never have had the chance, except for a window box or two.”

“Not to mention you’d never have had the chance to study your history or your politics,” said Bard, “and Bain would only have learned how to heft a pike in the Master’s guard - or more likely, not at all.”

“I don’t think the Master would have had him in the guard,” said Sigrid, laughing. “Like he wouldn’t have you.”

“I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the guard,” Bard chuckled. “Not least because I wouldn’t have wanted to be there.”

“You’d have caused so much trouble they’d have kicked you out for a quiet life,” said Sigrid. “And you’d have gone back to causing trouble _not_ in the guard.”

“You’re not wrong there, sweetheart,” said Bard, and then he had to rein his horse in and bring her to a stop, because they had gone as far as they could go without riding right past the ruins. They dismounted and tethered the horses to a charred tree, and then Bard gathered everyone around him. 

“Be careful,” he said, first. “We’ve no idea how sound any of the walkways will still be, if there even are any. The lake’s not that deep here, but the last thing any of you wants to do is to fall in. Although we might have to go diving, later, if we want to salvage the Master’s treasure.”

A ragged cheer went up at the mention of treasure, and Bard made a ‘settle down’ gesture with his hands.

“We don’t know if it’s still there,” he said. “We don’t know if we can get to it, if the dragon’s corpse is still polluting the water, there’s a hundred things we need to find out first. So nobody do anything daft like jumping straight in. We have to have a good look at it all first.”

There was a bit of muttering at that, but it all seemed to be good-humoured, and so Bard turned and led them all down to the edge of the lake. The walkway that had joined the town to the land was gone, only a few posts sticking forlornly out of the water, and Bain and his friends volunteered to go back along the shore and fetch the boats that had been abandoned there when they had all made their escape. 

“All right,” said Bard, “don’t any of you fall in, and we’ll see you back here in a bit. And the rest of us, we can see what we can see from the shore.”

They made their way along the shore, peering out at the broken, charred timbers, half-hidden by the water, stretching almost as far as the eye could see. Lake-town had been big, not as big as Esgaroth had been, but still big enough to make a terrible sight now in its destruction. 

“I can’t see the dragon anywhere,” said Sigrid, shielding her eyes with a hand and squinting. “Only - look, there, is that _bones_?” She pointed, and Bard followed the line of her finger to focus on something large and pale, curving up out of the water in the middle of the wreckage, stained with charring, looking horribly, horribly like a ribcage. 

He took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s just hold on until Bain and his friends get back with the boats,” he said. “We can take a closer look then.” Inwardly he was dreading it, and from the looks on the faces of everyone else, so were they. 

Before too long someone sent up a shout, and Bard tore his gaze away from the dragon’s bones in the water to see Bain and his companions paddling round the headland in a couple of slightly rickety boats. They landed them more or less skilfully on the shore - they had not forgotten their upbringing on the lake, in their six months in Dale, Bard thought, and for the first time it occurred to him that it might be possible to re-settle here, on the lake, when the ruins had been cleared. Lake-town might have burned, but the remains of the stonework of Esgaroth were still there; he could see them, out on the lake. In a few years, perhaps, when they had re-established Dale; and if anyone actually wanted to return, after all that had happened.

They organised themselves into boats and paddled out among the timbers; Bard realised after a moment or two that they were more or less following the old waterways, floating along between what used to be houses, fragments of walkways still clinging to posts. He felt disorientated, struggling to get his bearings in the place he had lived all his life, without all the familiar landmarks. He could not for the life of him have pinpointed where his house had been, his family home, where he had raised his children and where he himself had been raised, and his da before him and _his_ da before _him_.

“It’s all gone, Da,” whispered Bain, his hand slipping into the crook of Bard’s elbow, where his friends couldn’t see it. “I mean, I know I saw it burn, with you, but…I don’t know what I expected.”

“I know, lad,” said Bard. “I feel the same way. I knew we weren’t going to see it as it was, when we got here, but at the same time I almost expected to.”

“We didn’t see the aftermath, though, at the time,” said Sigrid, from Bard’s other side, her voice hollow. “We only saw it burning. And it went on burning for days.”

“I don’t think there are going to be any bodies left, Da,” said Bain, somewhat unsteadily. “I think they’ll all have burned away. Even the dragon, look at it.” He pointed at the bones curving up out of the lake, and this time Bard could not help but look, paddling the boat closer and closer until they were almost upon it.

“It’s all gone,” said Sigrid, and she, too, sounded shaken. Bard realised that he was going to have to shove his own horror down for the sake of his children, who were still children, really, in spite of everything they had experienced and all the growing up they had been doing. He felt nauseous, but his own feelings could wait until later.

“Then we don’t have to worry about what to do with it,” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could manage. “I thought we might have to drag it out and burn it or something, but it turns out it’s done the job for us itself.” He didn’t mention the other bodies, the ones he’d really been dreading having to find. Presumably they, too, had been burned away to ash and bones; he knew now that dragonfire was far stronger than ordinary flames, and he had to suppress a shudder, remembering Thranduil’s terrible injuries. He suspected, though he would not say it, that his beloved had come within inches of a similar fiery death.

“What about the treasure, Da?” asked Bain. “Do we know where it is, where the Master got to with it?”

“I think it might be under the dragon,” said Sigrid. “We weren’t all that far away when it came down, and they’d rammed us only a few minutes earlier. The Master was on the main waterway, and that’s where the dragon fell.”

Bain peered over the edge of the boat, down into the waters of the lake. “Down there, then,” he said, sounding pleased to have a distraction. “The water’s pretty murky. Da, can I borrow the paddle a second?”

Bard handed the paddle over, and Bain stuck it right down into the water, poking around. At first the water swirled up with a flurry of grey mud, but then - Bain let out a yell as the sunlight caught something bright, shining.

“Da, Da, look! Look, I think it’s - I think it’s really down here! The treasure!”

Bain’s shout drew the attention of the other boat, and soon everyone was peering down through the water, poking with paddles and long tree branches. 

“Someone’s going to have to dive,” said Jonty the fishmonger. “Bags not me.”

“I will go,” said Tauriel, gathering her hair up and tying it into a knot at the nape of her neck. “I can hold my breath longer than any of you.”

“Bloody Elves,” said Jonty, “so smug,” but he was grinning, and he nudged Tauriel in the side as she stood up in the boat.

“I am merely stating a fact,” she said calmly, though her eyes were dancing, and she nudged Jonty back with her knee; then she sprang lightly over the side of the boat, diving into the water with barely a ripple, the boat hardly rocking as she left it. 

She was under water for a good few minutes, long enough that Bard started to worry about her, even though she had said she could hold her breath - but then she surfaced, her hair sopping wet and plastered to her head but a triumphant smile on her face and something clenched in her fist. 

“I believe we have found the Master’s treasure,” she said, opening her hand to reveal a large gold coin. 

Everyone looked at each other, and then a cheer went up; Bard could not help laughing, part in relief, part in amazement. If it was true, if it could be salvaged, then Dale would not have to struggle to re-establish itself after all, would not have to rely on the goodwill of the Dwarves and the Elves. And best of all, the treasure the Master had hoarded so selfishly would finally be able to benefit everyone, instead of one conniving, pathetic, avaricious man.

“How deep is it?” he asked Tauriel. “Can any of us reach it?”

“If you are good swimmers,” she said. “Which I suppose at least some of you ought to be, given that you spent all your lives living on a lake. I think it is about six or eight feet down.”

There was a brief discussion, and then Agnes piped up. “I can dive,” she said. “I can’t hold my breath as long as Tauriel can, but I can give it a try.”

“Me too,” said Ned, who had been in the Master’s guard in Lake-town but had thrown it all over the moment he’d crawled out of the lake the morning after the dragon. “I used to dive for pretty stones off the lake-bed, when I was a lad.”

“This will be much the same,” said Tauriel. “Only the water is less pleasant, I think. Do not swallow any of it, just in case.”

And then Ned and Agnes were shrugging out of their jackets and steadying themselves on their comrades as they dived into the lake, and Tauriel went back down with them in a swirl of muddy water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> By the way, if any of you are feeling in need of ridiculous seasonal fluff, I'm writing a Christmas movie AU featuring these two and all their respective kids; you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072815). 
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	69. Everything There Was To Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and his companions retrieve the Master's treasure, and Bard and Sigrid talk a little about the night the dragon came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm back, after a brief diversion into [Christmas movie AU territory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072815), and I hope you've all had a suitably festive time, if that's what you celebrate. And now...returning you to your regularly scheduled tale of life in Dale after the Battle of the Five Armies. :D

It took them most of the day to retrieve the treasure, loading one boat and paddling it back to the shore, then loading the other, paddling it back, until both wagons were loaded. The divers took it in shifts, Bain’s friends Erik and Lotta taking turns with Ned and Agnes, and whoever was not diving sitting wrapped up in blankets by a fire lit upon the lake shore.

Now that the treasure had been found, nobody wanted to leave it, in case looters happened by. The wagons would go back to Dale fully laden with the Master’s loot, and anything else could wait for another trip, although having seen the state of the place, Bard was not over-confident there would be anything left. The barrels of ale that had been salvaged for the memorial back in the autumn were probably all that could have been saved. 

“Let’s just take a quick look round the rest of it,” said Sigrid, reading his mind as usual. “Just to make sure there isn’t anything else.”

“Do I have to come?” asked Bain, and Bard shook his head, smiling. 

“No, you stay here and make sure the wagons are securely loaded,” he said. “We’ll not be long, we just want to check there’s nothing else useful.” He and Sigrid got back into one of the boats and he paddled them back out among the wreckage, while Bain settled down around the fire. 

“He’s done well today,” said Sigrid as they made their way between the charred timbers, looking this way and that in case there was anything salvageable to be spotted. 

“He has,” said Bard. “We saw some awful things that night, not least the dragon, he faced it down with me, and I don’t think either of us has ever been so scared in our lives.” He drew in a deep breath. “We both thought we’d lost you and Tilda. We couldn’t see how anyone could have survived. So we - we found ourselves a boat, and we paddled as hard as we could, and then we washed up on the shore with everyone else.”

“And there we were,” said Sigrid. “Tauriel got us out, really. Fíli and Bofur paddled, but Óin was too busy looking after Kíli, and of course Tilda and I were too scared to do anything, but Tauriel kept watch and steered, and stopped us when we were going to collide with other people - I think she can see in the dark, you know. And then it was light, and we were on the shore, and we were looking for you…” She trailed off, and Bard slipped his arm around her shoulders for a moment and squeezed reassuringly.

“I’ll never forget the sound of your voices yelling for me,” he said. “I thought we’d lost the both of you, and then suddenly there you were. None of the rest of it mattered, only that you were there.”

“I don’t think Bain’s ever been so pleased to see us,” said Sigrid a little shakily, sounding as though she had been aiming for humour but had missed her mark by a little way. 

“He’d had a dreadful night,” said Bard. “Well, we all had. Followed by a dreadful few weeks. You’ve all taken it so well, all things considered.”

“We didn’t have much choice,” said Sigrid quietly. “There hasn’t really been time to think about it, and I think that’s helped. And then being able to stay with Ada for a little while, in the Woodland Realm, that helped too. It was so different to what we’ve been used to, and it was such a - such a blessed relief, not to have to be forever doing something, or looking at the ruins, or thinking about what happened.”

“I’ve put a lot on your shoulders, sweetheart,” said Bard, feeling guilty. “I’m so sorry. I just - I haven’t known how else to do it.”

“No, Da, it’s not your fault,” said Sigrid. “There’s been nothing else you could have done, and this way we’re learning new things that will help us in this new life of ours. None of this was your fault. If it was anyone’s, it was the dragon’s.”

“Or those who woke it,” said Bard quietly but with feeling; he had been trying very hard not to feel resentful towards those of Thorin’s company who had survived, but sometimes it was a little bit of a struggle. Thorin Oakenshield may have had the right to reclaim his homeland, Bard thought, but he had not had the right to unleash the dragon upon the people of Lake-town, who had done nothing to deserve the fire and death that had rained down upon them. No matter that it had been an accident; people had still died. And what had it brought Oakenshield, in the end, except death for himself and his nephews?

“I’m trying not to think about that bit too much,” said Sigrid, leaning her head on his shoulder for a moment. “I like them all, and I think they should have a home. I just think they could have gone about it a bit differently, maybe. We could have helped them deal with the dragon and still kept Lake-town safe, surely. We had the Black Arrow in our kitchen, after all, with the onions and the herbs hanging from it.” She let out a slightly hysterical-sounding laugh. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” said Bard. “I don’t know how it might have turned out, if things had been different. All we can do now is look at what we’ve got, and work out what to do with it.”

“You’re right, of course, Da,” said Sigrid, taking a deep breath and pulling herself together. “And I suppose we wouldn’t have the opportunities we have, if the Master hadn’t died. Including the treasure.” She sighed. “I’m only sorry his library burned down. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of a single book, and I suppose even if there were any left they’d all be beyond saving by now.”

“I think we’ve retrieved everything there was to save,” said Bard. “Unless anyone can work out where Anders the butcher had his shop, and find whether the barrels of salt-pork he used to keep cool in the water are still there. Or see if the contents of the Master’s wine-cellar survived.”

“I can’t get my bearings,” said Sigrid. “No, wait, is that - look, just there, I think that might be the Master’s house, it’s…well, it’s a bigger pile of wreckage than any of the others.”

“Let’s go and take a look,” said Bard, paddling them over to the heap of charred timbers; when they got a little closer he thought that Sigrid was right, this must have been the Master’s house. There was no way to see what lay beneath the water, however, and after a few minutes of paddling around the edge and poking at the timbers with his paddle, they decided to return to shore. 

“Tauriel might take a look at it underwater,” said Sigrid. 

“If she wants to,” said Bard, “but I’m not all that bothered about the Master’s wine, if I’m honest with you. We’ve salvaged the really useful stuff, and given that none of us is going to be getting any of our personal possessions back, I think maybe it’s time to cut our losses.”

Sigrid shrugged. “Fair enough,” she said, “I don’t think anyone would complain at that. And if they want to have a go themselves, they can.”

“And welcome,” said Bard. “But not today.”

By the time they beached the boat, everyone had congregated round the fire, and it was plain that they would not be getting back to Dale before nightfall. 

“Let’s pitch camp,” said Bard, “get as good a night’s sleep as we can, and then we’ll start for home as soon as it’s light. There’s nothing much out there that can be saved, I don’t think, unless any of you fancies diving for the Master’s wine cellar, if it’s even still there.”

Nobody felt like it, and so they lit another couple of fires and broke open the packages of provisions they had brought with them from Dale and ate a hearty dinner. Everyone was in a triumphant mood, the treasure having been salvaged more or less down to the last coin, and they pitched their tents in a circle around the wagons, hoping to keep them safe against any bandits who might happen to be passing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (good lord, I just noticed this chapter took me over 550k words posted to this site! wasn't it only a moment ago I crossed 500k?! thank you, daft Christmas AU! :D :D :D )
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	70. You've Always Thought Of Everyone Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Bain take first watch by the lake, and have probably the longest conversation they've ever had.

“I’ll take first watch,” said Bard, “any volunteers for second and third?”

Tauriel volunteered for the second watch, and Jonty and Ned for third, and so Bard positioned himself by the wagons with a good view along the lake shore in both directions. Sigrid went to the tent she was sharing with Tauriel and Agnes, but Bain hesitated on his way to his own tent, and then came to stand by Bard.

“Can I take the watch with you, Da?” he asked, and Bard smiled and nodded.

“Course you can, lad,” he said. “Not that I really expect anything exciting to happen, but you never know. Can’t be too careful.”

“Not with what’s in those wagons,” Bain said. “At least we’ve got something back out of it all.” He tried to hide a shudder, and Bard slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders. 

“That’s the way to look at it,” he said quietly. “Try not to think too much about what happened, don’t shut it away but try not to dwell on it or it’ll eat you alive.”

“I don’t want the dragon to win,” said Bain after a moment’s silence. “We won, we killed it - well, you killed it. But sometimes I think that maybe the dragon won after all, because I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Bard sighed. “I think in some ways, you and I will be slaying that dragon in our dreams till our dying days. But you’re right, you don’t want to let it win. Remind yourself that we killed it, when it tries to haunt you. We killed it, we brought it down, and all right, we didn’t manage to save everyone, but the people that did survive, all of them, they survived because we stopped the dragon before it could put all of Lake-town to the flames. We gave them time to escape.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Bain. “I almost didn’t want to come back here today. I was scared it would make me think of it again. But - I don’t know, I think because it’s so different now, it doesn’t even look like home, I don’t feel so bad. The dragon’s bones were pretty horrible, I felt a bit sick when we saw them, but - but they wouldn’t be there if we hadn’t killed it. And we got the treasure back. We’ll be able to use that to help get Dale rebuilt, won’t we?”

“We will,” said Bard. “And it’ll benefit every last one of us, instead of just the Master.”

“It didn’t benefit him much in the end,” said Bain, clapping his hand over his mouth against a snigger. “If he hadn’t been trying to smuggle it all out, his boat wouldn’t have been so heavy, and he’d have got away a lot quicker and the dragon wouldn’t have landed on him.”

“There’s a lesson in that somewhere,” said Bard mildly, and Bain sniggered again before he pulled himself together. 

“You’re right, Da,” he said. “No point hoarding it all when you could use it to do something good.”

“Exactly,” said Bard. “Which is what we’re going to do.”

“Good,” said Bain. “And - and I’m glad we killed the dragon, because now the Dwarves can have their home back. And people will take us more seriously because we’re not just a bunch of refugees from the lake, we’ve got a dragonslayer for a King.”

Bard laughed softly. “I suppose you’re right, though I don’t much like the idea of trading on it. Or of being a King.” He smiled, having just had a thought. “Do you know who else is a dragonslayer?”

Bain shook his head, but he looked curious. “Who? I haven’t heard of anyone else. Or any other dragons, come to think of it.”

“It was a long time ago,” said Bard, “but your Ada faced a dragon in battle, and he killed it.” He was taking a bit of a risk, referring to Thranduil in such terms, since he didn’t really know how Bain felt about the whole thing, but he thought it was a risk worth taking. 

Bain did not even bat an eyelid. “Did he?” he asked, eyes wide. “That’s _amazing_. How did he do it, with a Black Arrow like we did?”

Bard shook his head. “With his sword. He deflected the dragon’s fire with his shield and stuck it in the belly.” He did not mention the injuries Thranduil had sustained, for those were very definitely Thranduil’s secret to keep, but he thought the tale of his bravery in battle was probably open for the telling, given that other people would have been there and it was probably in all manner of history books. Which, he thought, reminded him that he had better mention it to Sigrid, at least, before she discovered it for herself.

“Wow,” said Bain. “I knew he was an amazing warrior, but to stick a dragon with his sword…” He trailed off for a minute, shaking his head in amazement. “I like him,” he said after a moment, “by the way. He’s been nice to us, when he didn’t have to be, and he’s nice to you.”

Bard quirked an eyebrow, he had been wondering, but had not quite liked to ask, nor had he really found the ideal opportunity to do so. “So you don’t mind that he and I - well. That we -"

“That you love each other?” Bain interrupted, plainly impatient with Bard’s searching for an appropriate form of words to express what was going on between them. “Course I don’t mind. Like I said, I like him, he’s nice to us, and anyway, it’s been ten years since Mam died and you deserve to be happy with someone again. And before you ask, no, I don’t mind that he isn’t a lady. Or human.” He grinned. “Having the Elvenking for a stepfather, or whatever it is he is, is _more than_ amazing, especially if he’s going to teach me to fight with two blades. Besides, Til and Sig adore him, and he’s clearly totally smitten with them.”

Bard shook his head, laughing softly. “I think he likes you very much as well, you know. It’s been a long time since his son was of an age to be learning from him.”

Bain shrugged. “I think he messed up with his son. But maybe we can help him put things right. I’d like to do that. He’s a good da, he just doesn’t realise it.” He snorted softly. “Frankly I’d quite like to knock their heads together but I’m not doing that until I’m a better fighter because I think I’d have to defend myself pretty sharpish.”

Bard laughed again. “I think we’re all on the same page there. Although I’d advise not knocking anyone’s heads together, especially not those two. Let’s see how it goes. If the prince comes back this way, maybe we can talk to him. I know Tauriel would like to see him again.”

“Yeah, she said they were really close. I like her too.” He shot Bard a glance. “Not that way, by the way. But she’s a good friend and an amazing warrior and she’s great at teaching us to fight. And she got Til and Sig out of Lake-town when it was burning. She’s a good person.”

“I know,” said Bard. “She’s shaping up to be a good ambassador, too. We’re better off for having her with us, for however long she has to be banished for.”

Bain nodded. “It’s horrible for her that she can’t go home, but I think she likes it with us. And it won’t be so long for her, till she can go home again. She said they look at time differently.”

“I suppose it stands to reason,” said Bard. “Living as long as they do, I suppose a year or ten years isn’t much time at all to them.”

“Yeah,” said Bain, “so don’t you go wasting any of it. When we’re grown up, if you want to go and live in the forest, with Ada, you should do it. We’ll be able to sort Dale out, between us, and you ought to do what makes you happy. You’ve always thought of everyone else and never yourself.”

Bard blinked; first Sigrid and now Bain. His children really were growing up, right before his eyes. “I’ll bear it in mind,” he said. “We’ve all got a fair bit to do before that happens, though.”

“I know,” said Bain. “I’m not saying do it now, I’m just saying don’t rule it out. Sigrid’s nearly grown up, I’m not far behind, give it five or six years and we’ll both be more than capable, especially if we get to learn from the Dwarves as well. Did I tell you, I asked Dwalin if he’d teach me how to use his axes, and he didn’t say yes, but he also didn’t say no. I reckon if I work on him a bit more he’ll say yes. If only not to let the Elves be the ones doing all our training.”

Bard let out a low whistle, and then laughed. “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you? All three of you are leaps and bounds ahead of me, whatever the subject.”

Bain grinned. “Well, you’ve got everything to think about, we’ve only got our own things. Anyway, I want to learn to fight like a Dwarf as well as like an Elf, nobody’d expect that if we have to go into battle again.”

“Good point,” said Bard. “All right, you keep working on Dwalin, and I’ll see if Dáin can be persuaded to lend you a warrior or two. We’ll get you trained up, as much as you want.”

“I want to learn everything,” said Bain. “I don’t want to be caught like we were ever again. Dale is going to be the best defended city in Middle-Earth.”

“Good lad,” said Bard. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

Bain nodded, and they lapsed into a companionable silence. Bard did not recall ever having spoken so much with his son at one stretch before; but it was clear that Bain had been thinking deeply about the defence of Dale, and also, it seemed, about Thranduil and what he was becoming to them. The lad was growing up, and growing into a good man, at that. Bard supposed that was the best thing he could have hoped for, and he knew how lucky he was. All three of his children had survived the destruction of Lake-town, and they were all growing into exactly the sort of young people that Dale’s new society needed. He truly could not ask for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for 2020 - chapter 70 (and almost 400k words posted here since June)! I have no idea how many chapters there are left to go, although I do know what needs to happen and I know exactly how the story will end. Maybe another 30 - 100 would be a nice round (terrifying) number! Thank you all for sticking with me this year, and for all your support - may 2021 treat us all much better! <333333
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	71. The Capital Of The North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and co return to Dale with the treasure from Lake-town - and discover that a packet of letters from Thranduil has arrived in their absence.

Late the following day they drove the wagons back into Dale to a rapturous welcome; Hilda saw them coming from the walls and hailed them, and Jonty yelled back up that they had found the treasure and brought it all back, and by the time they were making their way in through the still-half-ruined gates everyone had come out to greet them, to crowd round and try to peek into the wagons. 

“Easy now,” called Bard over the clamour. “Yes, it’s the Master’s treasure, yes, we think it’s all of it, or all of it that could be saved, and yes, we’ll be using it for everyone’s benefit. Trading with the Dwarves and the Elves and with Rohan and Gondor, buying whatever everyone needs. Re-establishing Dale as the capital of the North again.” 

A cheer went up, and Bard realised that he had not really put it into words before, his ambition for Dale, his hopes and his dreams. Not in public, anyway. He hadn’t said it in front of everyone, not in so many words, that he wasn’t thinking of simply rebuilding Dale but of bringing it back, better than it ever was before. Capital of the North, home of the best toy-market in Middle-Earth, thriving community where Men and Dwarves and Elves could mix and live alongside each other - well, perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself, but there was no harm in dreaming, surely. 

A high, clear voice cut through the chaos, and the crowd parted to allow Tilda through. “Da, Da, is it true? Is it true, did you really find the treasure?” she was calling, and Bard laughed and slid off his horse to catch her up in his arms.

“It’s true, kitten,” he said, swinging her around. “We found it. And it’s not going to be hoarded or kept for the benefit of one person ever again.”

Another cheer went up, and Bard hugged Tilda close. “Also there’s an Elf here, from the Woodland Realm!” she said in his ear. “He brought a whole packet of letters from Ada!”

“Did he now,” said Bard calmly, although inside his heart was singing. “I hope you and Hilda put him up nicely in the guest quarters.”

“Of course we did, Da! We gave him dinner and he said it was nice, and then this morning I saw him and he said he slept very well and I showed him the gardens and how my plants are coming up already and he said he would tell the gardeners when he went home.”

“That’s wonderful, kitten. Now, we need to find somewhere safe to put all of this stuff. Anyone any ideas?” He looked around at the crowd, and Percy raised his voice from the back.

“There’s a vault under the great hall. The lads and I went looking, in case you managed to bring anything back, and there it was. It isn’t secure, the trapdoor’s busted open but that’s easily enough mended and Bofur reckons his friend Nori’s an expert on locks, so they should be able to sort something out for us. We’ll have to post a guard until then, but it’s ideal otherwise.”

“That’ll do, then,” said Bard. “Come on, let’s get all this up to the hall and into the vault. Then if there’s any ale left, I think we all deserve some. Extra for the ones who did the diving!”

That motivated them all to get moving, and for the next couple of hours almost everyone was occupied in carrying armfuls of gold plate, handfuls of jewellery and coins, from the wagons up the stairs into the great hall, then down through the broken trapdoor into the vault. They piled things as carefully as they could, and a few people sat with cloths and brushes and cleaned the worst of the lake-bed mud from everything so that it wouldn’t have to be done when it came time to use the things for trading. 

Only when everything had been safely stowed in the vault and a guard posted - Percy would not let Bard take the first shift himself, arguing that he had doubtless taken watch at the lakeside and needed his sleep, and put a couple of his lads from the guard on duty - did Bard feel he could gather his children to him and head for home. It was almost sunset and time for dinner.

Later, after Bard had made a hearty soup and they had all eaten their fill, they settled down around the fire and Bard opened up the packet that had arrived from the Woodland Realm and dished out the letters it contained, one each for the children, one for Tauriel and one for him; he would have to find the messenger and thank him in the morning, but for now he was too tired. All he wanted was to watch the children and Tauriel read their letters from Thranduil, read his own, and then go to bed and sleep.

Tilda squealed happily over her letter, insisting that Bard read it too, and he smiled as he realised how much affection lay in Thranduil’s words, his compliment for Tilda’s drawing, even the kind words about Bofur and the carousel.

“You’ll have to write back and let him know how your gardens are getting on, kitten,” he said, and Tilda smiled widely. 

“I will! Can I do it now?”

“If you like,” said Bard. “But you still have to go to bed soon, so write as much as you can now and you can finish up in the morning.”

“All right!” said Tilda, and she scampered across the room and hoisted herself into the chair at Bard’s desk, reaching for the paper and the pen and inkwell. 

Bain was smiling at his letter, looking pleased, and Bard did not ask to see it but he assumed that Thranduil had sent words of praise for his training, perhaps a promise to spar with him in the summer. Tauriel looked pleased, too, and amused, thoughtful and a little wistful; he thought that she was on her way to learning to trust Thranduil again, and he hoped he was right. The two of them had lost so much time, and Tauriel was someone who would be there for him long after Bard and his family were gone; Thranduil would need her, as he would need his son, and Bard hoped against hope that he would manage not to shut them out this time.

Sigrid, meanwhile, was smiling delightedly, and she leaned over to murmur to him. “Oh, Da, do you know that book of poetry that Ada lent me, by Daeron? I joked in my letter that he probably knew him, and now here he says he did! And he says that he’s still around somewhere, wandering in the East. How exciting!” She laughed softly. “It’s such a strange thing to think of. I haven’t nearly begun to understand it about Ada, but to think that there are other people around who have been here just as long, or longer, people who have written books, and he knew some of them when he was younger. It’s just…so odd. And I suppose it’ll be odder still in the autumn, when Lord Elrond visits, especially if he brings all of his household with him too.” She broke off, thinking, and then looked up at him. “He’s probably _in_ the history books, isn’t he? Ada, I mean. I haven’t found him in the ones I’ve read yet, but I bet he’s there.”

“Actually,” said Bard quietly, “I was meaning to talk to you about that. There’s - you’ll find him in your books eventually, I think, and some of it is…it’s not something you should find out from a book.” He paused. “One of the battles he fought in, there were dragons there. Or at least, _a_ dragon. And he killed it.”

“Oh,” said Sigrid, her hand going to her mouth for a moment. “So you’re _both_ dragonslayers?”

“I suppose we are,” said Bard with a faint smile. “But also, your book might mention that he was injured. Badly. It’s his story to tell, not mine, and I suspect he won’t want to tell you, but I just wanted to warn you, so you won’t be taken by surprise when you discover it.”

Sigrid nodded, looking anguished. “Thank you, Da,” she said. “Oh, I can’t bear to think of it, of him getting hurt.”

“I know, sweetheart,” said Bard. “Neither can I. But it was a very long time ago.” He was not going to tell her that Thranduil was still suffering from his injuries, but he could not quite bring himself to tell her that everything was fine now. She would probably draw her own conclusions, but hopefully they would not be ones that would worry her. 

“Even so,” she said. “And he’s lost so much, so many people, it doesn’t bear thinking about. He’ll lose us too, eventually.” She sighed. “Sorry, Da. But it’s true. We have to make sure he’ll be all right when we’re gone. Make sure he doesn’t do what he did last time.”

“You’re right,” said Bard. “We need to build him up, give him some defences so he doesn’t need to put up walls of ice again. Make him understand that he still has people who love him, even if we’re not here.” He smiled, and reached out to pat her arm. “But let’s not think of that just yet. Everything is going to be fine.”

“It is,” said Sigrid, taking a deep breath. “Go on with you, Da, it’s time you opened your letter, don’t you think?”

“Go on with _you_ ,” Bard said, smiling, but he took out his pocketknife to prise up the seal on the letter addressed to him, and Sigrid went back to her own letter.

He unfolded the paper, and began to read, slowly, savouring every word written in Thranduil’s beautiful, flowing script. He felt his face warming with a blush at the first sentence, biting back a smile at his own memories of the desk at which Thranduil said he had written the letter; the last thing he wanted was for his family to notice and ask him what the letter said. He read on, and his heart warmed too at Thranduil’s gentle concern for him, his frank confession that he missed him, his advice about Dáin and his affection for Tilda. And then he came to the end of the letter and felt his face heat up again; he had not really stopped thinking about Thranduil’s voice, his touch, his kiss, since he had left him on the road at the edge of the forest, even at the busiest moments. In the back of his mind, perhaps, but still, it was always there. It would have to stay at the back of his mind for now, he knew, but later, he would drift off to sleep and let the memories engulf him. And it would not be all that long until Midsummer, and they would see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of 2021! *party streamers* Happy new year, everyone! <3333333
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	72. In For A Groat, In For A Guinea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has a chat with Bofur, Thranduil arrives in Dale, and Bard makes a spur-of-the-moment decision.

The weeks slipped past in a blur of hard work and difficult decisions, and all of a sudden Midsummer was only a couple of weeks away, Tilda’s birthday only a week away, and a letter arrived from Thranduil stating that he expected to arrive within the week. This sent Bard into something of a panic, much as he knew the time was coming, as the big house was nowhere near finished even though Dáin had sent several extra builders, a brace of plumbers and a water engineer to fix up the running water. Sigrid had been learning from the water engineer and the plumbers, Tilda and Bain had been helping out with the building work, mostly fetching and carrying although Bain had been learning how to lay bricks and mix mortar - and now Bard dropped everything else he had been doing and pitched in to help as well. He spent a couple of days learning how to plaster and then putting his learning into practice in the wing of the house that had been chosen for Thranduil as the one needing the least work, and spent a somewhat fraught day helping to finish the staircase, access to the upper floor having previously been via the scaffolding. 

“Don’t you worry, sir,” said Bofur cheerfully, a few days before Thranduil was expected to arrive, “we’ll have everything done and dusted to His Majesty’s standards. We’re hard workers, we Dwarves, you know.”

“I don’t want to insult you, Bofur,” said Bard, looking around at the myriad jobs remaining to be done, the absolute mess everywhere, “but I can’t quite see how.”

Bofur laughed, puffing on his pipe in the corner of his mouth. “You’d be surprised. We’ll be pulling an all-nighter or two, but it’ll be done.”

“You’ve already worked wonders getting it this far,” said Bard. “The building’s water-tight, the stairs are in, the floors are in, everything’s plastered -“

“Thanks to your help,” put in Bofur, and Bard shook his head. 

“I think I hindered more than helped,” he said, “but at least it’s done. But there still needs to be painting doing, furniture putting in - furniture _building_ , why didn’t I think of that before? -"

“Don’t worry,” said Bofur. “Your man Jonty, he’s been working on that, with Ned and Anders and Margery. Lake-town turns out to have been a town of woodworkers, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, really, seeing as it was made of wood. They’ve set up a carpentry workshop.”

“How did I not know that?” Bard wanted to know, shaking his head; how had he missed it?

“You’ve not exactly been free of things taking up your attention, sir,” said Bofur with a grin. “They wanted to do it anyway, as a surprise for you. Everyone wants Dale to look good - better than it did last time His Majesty visited.”

Bard was speechless for a moment. Of course his people did not know the true reason for him being so concerned that the big house should be comfortable for Thranduil when he visited, but even if they thought he just wanted Dale to look good, he was deeply touched by their working in secret to help. 

“It’ll all be a bit simple and a bit basic,” said Bofur, “but it’ll do for now. And His Majesty saw the state the place was in last autumn. He ought to understand what you’ve been up against.” He chuckled. “Even if he’s not normally given to understanding what other people’s lives are like.”

Bard didn’t know what to say to that, either. “Thank you, Bofur,” he said, instead, “for everything. You and your people, you’ve worked so hard for us.”

“Least we could do,” said Bofur. “Least _I_ could do, anyway. You took us in when you didn’t have to, when Kíli was sick. You killed the dragon, and Mahal knows that wasn’t something you ever asked for. And then, after you’d lost your home, and Thorin’d gone back on his word, you could’ve retreated into Dale and shored up the defences when the Orcs showed up, and instead you stood and fought. Your people joined ours when it mattered. And you’ve been a friend to us since - to me. You and your wee ones. I can’t tell you how much that’s meant.” He puffed on his pipe in silence for a moment. “I know I don’t talk about it, or show it, much, I know I’m the cheerful one. But I miss them, you know, Thorin and Fíli and Kíli. They were my friends, and they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. I know things didn’t unfold how any of us would have wished, I know Thorin’s quest brought down the dragon on your home, and I know he went back on his word, but he was still my friend. He was my King.” Bofur broke off, relighting his pipe and sucking hard on the stem. 

Bard put a hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “I know. He was - misguided, maybe. I’ve seen that elsewhere, where that mountain is concerned. But I know he didn’t intend to set the dragon on us, and I know, now, he wasn’t in his right mind when he broke his promise to us. I saw the nobility in him, in Lake-town, and I suppose I know something about ancient homelands and birthrights denied, not that I ever thought I’d end up claiming mine. What’s done is done, and we just have to work out how to live with what’s left.”

“You’re a better man than I,” said Bofur with a faint laugh. “I’d be eaten up with resentment about what happened. As it is, I’m eaten up with guilt.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bofur,” Bard said. “And you’ve more than paid for any role you had in it, not that you had a role, given that you were in Lake-town looking after your friends and my girls, and not that I’d ever expect payment from you. You’ve been a good friend to all of us, Tilda in particular adores you, and I don’t want you feeling bad about any of it, any more.”

Bofur puffed on his pipe, inhaled too hard, coughed, and scrubbed at his watering eyes. “You’re too good,” he said when he had got his breath back, and Bard laughed.

“Hardly. I’m just stating the facts. And please, stop calling me ‘sir’, by the way. You’re my friend, I hope I’m your friend, and I’d really rather you used my name.”

“All right,” said Bofur with a sheepish grin. “I’ll do my best. Now, if you want this work finished, I’ll have to get back on with it.”

“Do you need a hand with anything?” Bard asked, and Bofur flapped a hand dismissively, shaking his head.

“No, you go on, you’ve got more than enough to be doing preparing for His Majesty to show up. We’ve got this covered, I promise. It’ll all be done by the time he needs it.”

“Thank you, Bofur,” Bard said, with feeling, for he did indeed have a great many things to do before Thranduil arrived, most of them official; he was mostly managing to keep his mind off how much he was looking forward to seeing his beloved again, how much he had missed him, what they might find themselves doing as soon as they could be alone…mostly. Sometimes he would find himself becoming sidetracked while he was doing something else, staring off into the distance, mind wandering - and then he would come back to the task at hand with a jolt, his face heating, and he would hope nobody had noticed his distraction.

But at last, at last the day came when Bain - who had stationed himself on the city walls overlooking the road from the Woodland Realm, claiming it was good practice for when he joined the guard although Bard suspected he wanted to be the first to spot his Ada’s party - yelled down from his vantage point that he could see them coming. Lotta heard and ran for Bard, picking up Sigrid and Tilda on the way, and soon they were all standing on the wall, looking down at the road and the small but very dignified party making its way towards Dale, headed by a tall, distinctive figure, silver-haired and wearing a long, shimmering green cloak. Bard’s heart was hammering unnaturally loudly in his chest and he thought that anyone who looked at him at this moment would divine his secret immediately. He was not sure, but he thought that Lotta already knew, from the way she had looked at him when she brought the news that the Elvenking had been spotted. Whether Bain had talked, or she had picked it up from things that had been said in her hearing, he did not know, but he thought that she was a sharp girl and he probably needed to be careful of her. 

He stood and watched as Thranduil rode closer, and though he could not make out the expression on his beautiful face, he knew that Thranduil could see him clearly, and he hoped he could read everything that Bard was feeling, all the hope and the love and the longing that he had felt every day since they had parted; since the night after the battle, if he was honest with himself.

Eventually they drew close enough that Bard could see them properly and for a moment he just looked at Thranduil, drinking in the sight of him, so tall and straight and beautiful on his horse, his hair falling around his face, a deceptively simple-looking diadem upon his head, and a smile upon his lips that Bard knew was only for him. He sent an answering smile out to him, and then led the children down off the wall to go and stand in the gateway to greet their visitors.

Tilda was bouncing up and down on her toes, and Bain and Sigrid were hardly less enthusiastic, both of them almost vibrating with excitement. Glancing round, Bard saw that people were beginning to congregate, and though he had hoped they might have been able to greet Thranduil in private, he thought he probably should have known better; once the word got round, everyone would turn out to see the Elvenking’s arrival. 

“Welcome to Dale, my Lord Thranduil!” he called as Thranduil drew closer, and he watched as his beloved’s face lit with a smile. 

“I thank you, my Lord of Dale,” said Thranduil, his clear voice ringing like a bell. “Or should I say, your Majesty?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Bard, and everyone laughed, including Thranduil. 

“You will have to come to terms with it,” said Thranduil softly, and Bard smiled a little sheepishly.

“I know,” he said. “But it’ll take a while. Might I conduct you to your accommodation?”

“I would be delighted to see it,” said Thranduil, raising his voice a little again, for the benefit of the crowd. “I must congratulate you and your people, for Dale is looking almost restored already.”

“Thank you,” said Bard. “We’ve been working hard, but there’s still much to do.”

“Then I would very much like to see the work you have been doing,” said Thranduil, dismounting smoothly and coming to stand in front of Bard. “But first I would very much like to speak with you and your children, if I may.”

Bard glanced at Tilda, who looked as though she was ready to burst with the effort of keeping back her excitement in public, and then looked back at Thranduil with a smile. He took a breath, then another, and then decided to throw caution to the wind. In for a groat, in for a guinea, again, he thought wryly, and he stepped forward, slid his hand to the back of Thranduil’s head, and pulled him down into a kiss. 

Dimly he registered a loud intake of breath from the crowd, then a loud cheer from Tilda and Bain, an incredulous but delighted laugh from Sigrid - and then a cheer from everyone else. 

They broke apart after a long moment, and Thranduil chuckled softly. “What happened to being careful, meleth-nín?”

“I suddenly realised I don’t care,” said Bard. “Just the thought of keeping you secret the whole time you’re here was making me exhausted, and, you know, I don’t care what Dáin thinks, and I know my people already know me, they know I won’t let you influence me against Dale’s interests.”

“Will you not?” murmured Thranduil, but he was smiling.

“Absolutely not,” said Bard. “Come on, let’s show you the big house. Everyone’s worked really hard to get it ready for you.”

“And I appreciate all of it,” Thranduil said, raising his voice again so that the crowd could hear him and handing his horse off to one of his escort. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I must borrow your King and his family, for as you can tell, they mean a great deal to me.”

Everyone laughed, and Hilda, at the back of the crowd, yelled “Get in there, lad!” Bard turned scarlet, and Thranduil, his mouth twisting in amusement, placed a hand at the small of his back and gently steered him between the crowd and up the street.

“I think your people approve, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil as they walked, and, on his other side, Sigrid chimed in.

“I didn’t expect you to do that, Da,” she said, a laugh in her voice, “but I’m glad you did. Everyone’ll be happy for you.”

“Except Dáin,” said Bard, who was already reconsidering the wisdom of what he had just done, and Sigrid snorted. 

“You can handle Dáin,” she said. “As can I, as can Ada. He’ll just have to live with it.”

“Besides,” said Thranduil, “I am greatly looking forward to sparring with him over the negotiating table, and this will give both of us plenty of ammunition.”

Bard groaned, but he could not quite deny that he was looking forward to watching Thranduil and Dáin lock horns over the table. 

“Can I come?” Tilda wanted to know, and Thranduil laughed. 

“I think it is best if you do not, pen-neth,” he said. “I think Dáin will not be able to restrain his language, and there are some things your ears should not hear.”

Tilda pouted, but then she flung her arms around his waist. “I’m glad you’re here, Ada,” she said. 

“I am glad I am here, too, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, scooping her up into his arms and settling her on his hip as though she were much smaller, but she did not protest. “You have all been working very hard, and you must show me your gardens.”

“Oh, they’re coming along so well!” said Tilda. “There’s one at the back of the big house, and another behind the market, and oh, we have to show you the Hope Tree, it’s really growing, Ada, and Mister Bofur made a fence round it, and oh, I have to show you the carousel as well, it’s all pretty now and it works and it’s so much fun to ride on, and…”

Tilda chattered on as they walked up the hill, and Bard caught Thranduil’s eye and smiled. They were together again, and all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> This chapter was very nearly entitled 'Get In There, Lad!' but I managed to restrain my inner Hilda just long enough to put something else. :D (also look look look, we're over 150k, this is RIDICULOUS and I have no idea what's going on!)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	73. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and his family show Thranduil the lord's house, which has just about been made ready for him.

Thranduil looked around as they walked through the streets of Dale, quietly amazed by how different the city looked. It was not even eight months after the battle, and already it looked well on the way to being fully restored. Most of the buildings had roofs and windows, proper doors, some had even been painted, some had window-boxes filled with flowers. It was almost as though the dragon had never come, the city had never stood abandoned for two centuries, there had never been a battle. 

Tilda was chattering in his ear about her gardens, the Halfling’s oak tree, the carousel, a hundred and one other things, and Thranduil could not help but smile; he had not quite forgotten how charming she was, but he felt as though she was reminding him anyway, and he had missed her more than he had quite realised. Bain and Sigrid were quiet, letting Tilda talk, but when he glanced at them they were both watching him closely, smiling, and he smiled back; he had missed them too. And Bard - oh, to be walking alongside him filled an empty space inside his heart, and he had not quite realised how badly it had ached until the pain had gone. 

He had seen Bain on the walls from far down the road, heard his cry, and soon the family had joined him, Sigrid holding Tilda up so that she could see over the wall, and Bard looking out over the plain, looking right at him, and he let his feelings fill his eyes although he knew that at this distance Bard would not be able to see his expression; but he could see the look on Bard’s face, joy and love and yearning mingled, and his heart turned over. He had left Feren behind, in command of his realm, and warned him that he may not be back before the end of the autumn, but he thought now that he might not be able to leave even then. And that Bard had kissed him in full view of his people - that spoke volumes. Dáin would doubtless not be pleased, but Thranduil found that he did not care one bit. They were equal partners in this, and they would deal with Dáin together. 

Thranduil had to admit that he had been surprised by the reaction of the people of Dale; he had expected them to be suspicious of him, but perhaps the supplies he had sent had endeared him to them. And they all cared deeply for Bard, that much was clear to see. Thranduil supposed that they had all known him all their lives, in Lake-town, and they would care about his happiness. Perhaps there would be no discontentment, after all.

They came to the top of the hill and Thranduil caught his breath at the sight of the lord’s house. It had been little more than a shell when last he had seen it, but now it looked complete; the roof was whole, the walls were rendered and painted, the door was tall and carved with patterns reminiscent of the roofs of the city, domed and curved and flowing. Sigrid darted ahead to open the door and usher them in with a bright smile. 

“Welcome home, Ada,” she said warmly, and then they were all stepping into a wide, bright hallway, lit by high windows, with a broad, curving staircase leading up to the first floor. Several doorways opened off the hall, although not all of them had doors. 

“We’ve only done one wing and the hall and a couple of the big rooms downstairs so far,” said Bard, “seeing as we only had a few months. But you’ve got a bedroom and a sitting room upstairs, the kitchen is ready to go, and there’s a dining room and the salon down here. The rest of it will have to be done over the summer.”

“Building works all day every day,” said Thranduil, “how delightful,” but he was smiling. “I shall have to find myself somewhere else to be.”

“Well, you did promise me you’d spar with me,” said Bain, and Thranduil nodded, smiling at the boy; he appeared to have gained some confidence over the last few months, and seemed more comfortable addressing Thranduil directly, without a conversation already having been struck up.

“Indeed I did, maethor-nín,” he said. “You will have to show me how you have improved, and how your friends are getting on.”

“Tomorrow,” said Bain. “We’ll do you a demonstration. Wait, where’s Tauriel?”

“Gone across to the mountain,” said Sigrid. “She and Balin are working on drawing up a treaty between our three realms. Well, so am I, but I knew you were coming today so I stayed behind. Tauriel was hoping to be back before you got here, but you turned up a bit early.” She gave Thranduil a stern look, and he laughed.

“I am sorry to inconvenience you, melinettë-nín,” he said. “And I will see Tauriel when she returns.” He looked around, and then at Bard. “I must congratulate you and all of your people on how hard they have worked to make this house habitable. I do not suppose I can persuade you to move in, while I am here?”

Bard pulled a face. “Not while everyone else is still crowded in together,” he said, and Sigrid rolled her eyes. 

“Almost everyone has a house of their own by now, Da,” she said. “And if we were here, we wouldn’t be taking up the little house. Besides, everyone knows about you and Ada now, so nobody’d begrudge you it.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Bard, but Thranduil could tell from the look in his eyes that he was very tempted. 

“Come on, Da,” said Bain, “we all know you’ll be here every night anyway.”

Tilda giggled, and Thranduil raised his eyebrows; clearly Bain truly had discovered his confidence.

“You seem very sure that I will not be spending any nights at your house,” said Thranduil, and Tilda giggled again.

“You won’t fit, Ada,” she said. “The ceilings are so low, Da has to duck his head, and you’re taller than he is.” She wriggled in his arms, so he set her down, and she grabbed his hand. “Come and see your rooms. They’re a bit plain because we didn’t have time to do them up all nice, but they’re finished!”

He let her tug him across the hall and up the stairs, along a corridor and through a door into a bright, airy sitting room; it was not as large as the rooms in his chambers in the Woodland Realm, but large enough, with a pair of chairs and a long bench decorated with soft cushions set around a low table; the furniture looked as though it had been made from whatever wood could be salvaged from the debris of the city, but it was well-crafted and Thranduil found it rather charming, that everything that could have been reused had been used. 

A door stood open at the other side of the room, leading through to a bedroom which looked just as light and airy; Thranduil could just see a bed frame in a similar style to the furniture in the sitting room, draped with blankets and what looked like a quilted bedspread. Again it was charming, and nothing like his home; it felt quite refreshing. 

The walls were indeed very plain, just whitewashed, but there was an earthenware cup on the table, filled with cut flowers, and Tilda squeezed his hand and pointed towards it.

“I picked you some flowers, Ada! The seeds your gardeners gave me all came up and now I’ve got sweet peas and marigolds and stocks and wallflowers so I thought I’d put some in your room for you.”

“They are lovely, pen-neth,” he said, very sincerely. “Thank you very much for thinking of me. And I will tell my gardeners, when I return home, that you have had such great success. They will be very pleased to hear it.”

“You’ve had a long journey, love,” said Bard, “do you want to rest for a while?”

Thranduil shook his head. “I want to sit with my family and hear all about what they have been doing since last I saw them.” He gestured to the bench and the chairs. “And then I want to see the city, and Tilda’s gardens.”

“We can’t quite lay on a formal dinner for you,” said Bard, “but Agnes is standing by to help us in the kitchen and we can do dinner for us, and for you and your people.” He broke off, looking worried. “We left them at the gate,” he said, “I’ve just realised.”

“You were a bit distracted, Da,” said Sigrid. “Percy will have sorted them out, he’ll have taken them to the stables, and then he’ll bring them up here, we’ve done them a couple of rooms here, they’ll have to share but I hope they don’t mind.”

“They will appreciate anything that is not a tent on the road,” said Thranduil. “As will I. You must compliment whoever made the furniture, for it is most charming and very comfortable, I am sure.”

“Wait till you’ve tried sleeping in the bed,” said Bard. “We did our best, but we had nothing to stuff the mattress with but straw and wool and rags.”

Thranduil laughed. “I was a soldier once, meleth-nín. I am sure I will survive.”

“I know, love,” said Bard, “but it’s not exactly like the beds in the Woodland Realm.”

“I did not expect it to be,” said Thranduil, “for where would you have got soft mattresses, when you have yet to establish yourselves? Now, you must all tell me about what you have been doing. Sigrid, I want to hear about your books, and your talks with the Dwarves. Bain, your training, and Tilda, your gardens. Meleth-nín, you have been taking care of many things, I know, and I want to hear about all of them. Now, who will begin?” He sat down upon the bench, pulling Bard down beside him, and Tilda scrambled into his lap while Bain and Sigrid settled themselves in the chairs.

There was a brief clamour, and then Bain began to talk about the training he and Tauriel had been doing with his friends; Thranduil listened, and prompted him with questions here and there, and curled his fingers around Bard’s, and felt somehow as though he had come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)  
> maethor-nín: my warrior  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> We are over 5k hits! THANK YOU each and every one of you! This is now my most-hit story on AO3 by some way. <33333333 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	74. The Progress You Have Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tauriel returns from the Lonely Mountain, and the whole family give Thranduil a tour of the city.

Later, Bard was quietly telling Thranduil of all the things he had been doing - privately, Thranduil thought it sounded as though he had been overworking himself - when there was the sound of soft footsteps in the corridor outside and then Tauriel appeared in the doorway. 

“Adarhanar!” she said as Thranduil rose to his feet to greet her, setting Tilda on the bench. “I saw Meludir and Galion in the stables - Percy and Ned are helping everyone see to the horses - and they said you were here. I am sorry I was not here when you arrived.”

“It does not matter, hanariel-nín,” said Thranduil, crossing the room to embrace her. “I am only glad to see you - and to hear that you are working upon a treaty. A wise idea indeed.”

“It was Sigrid who came up with it,” said Tauriel with a smile at her friend, “but Balin agreed, and although Dáin wanted to wait until you arrived, we thought it would be as well to make a start beforehand. There are plenty of little things that it would not be worth you wasting your time on, after all.”

“Indeed,” said Thranduil, “although I will wish to review them before we begin discussions. Perhaps you and I should have a conversation in the next few days, before we pay our first visit to the mountain. Or,” he smiled serenely, “before we invite Dáin to visit us here, for two parties to the negotiations are already in Dale, are they not, and Dáin is the odd one out.”

Bard chuckled. “Oh, that’ll go over well,” he said, “especially if he’s heard about us, which he probably has already, there’s enough of his people here after all. On the other hand, it’d probably do him some good to have someone else calling the shots once in a while.”

“Precisely,” said Thranduil. “Dáin likes to throw his weight around, but we are all equal partners in this alliance, and he will have to make concessions as you have already made some. For example, I assume you are the one who has gone to him, so far, rather than him coming here?”

Bard nodded. “He’s got a bit of a habit of sending for us. We usually make him wait a bit, but I didn’t see the point of rocking the boat. Besides, he’s the one with the negotiating table.”

“We have a dining table now, though, Da,” said Sigrid. “We can absolutely use the dining room downstairs as a negotiating room as well. It’s not as though there will be that many of us - just you, me, Tauriel, Ada, Dáin and Balin, maybe Ori if they get him to do the writing.” She counted on her fingers. “That’s only one more than all of us at dinner.”

“You make an excellent point, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil, and Sigrid beamed at him. 

“Thank you, Ada,” she said. “Someone has to keep an eye on the politics, otherwise Da’ll just keep on being extra nice and bending over backwards and Dáin’ll walk all over him.”

“Wait a moment,” Bard protested, but Thranduil went back over to him on the bench, leaned down and kissed him to make him be quiet.

“You already know that Sigrid is right, meleth-nín,” he said. “Perhaps we should hold a further round of talks in the Woodland Realm, later on.” He was not being entirely serious, and Sigrid knew it, by the look of amusement in her eyes.

“That’ll go over even better than Dáin having to come here,” she said. “Maybe we’ll save that until he’s being really difficult.” 

Thranduil chuckled. “Another excellent idea. Now, we are all here, and I am most anxious to see the rest of the city, including Tilda’s gardens. Will you show me the progress you have made?” He extended a hand to Bard to raise him to his feet, and Tilda scrambled off the bench to take his other hand. 

“Gardens first, Ada,” she said. “The first one’s here, it’s out the back, come on! I’ve got vegetables _and_ flowers, and I planted the trees out there as well.”

“I am pleased to hear it, pen-neth,” said Thranduil as Tilda tugged on his hand to lead him out of the room, Bard and the rest of the family following. 

They toured Tilda’s garden at the back of the house, Thranduil exclaiming over the progress of her vegetables, the loveliness of the flowers and the healthy appearance of the young trees his gardeners had sent back to Dale with her. 

“Ada, we’re going to grow healing herbs too, like kingsfoil and feverfew and things, I want to learn how to use them to make people better, like Tauriel did with Kíli.” She lowered her voice, glancing at Tauriel; Thranduil did not like to tell her that Tauriel would have been able to hear her anyway, and he was sure that she appreciated Tilda’s consideration.

“I will ask my healers to give you some instruction, next time you visit us,” said Thranduil. “I am not sure you will be able to perform the incantations in the way that Tauriel will have done, for that is a magic only my people can do, as far as I know; but if any of your people could learn it, I should think it would be you.”

“Do you think so?” Tilda’s eyes were wide, and Thranduil sighed.

“I do not like to get your hopes up, pen-neth. I have not heard of one of your people being able to learn Elven magic. But even if you are not able to do so, there are plenty of other things my healers can teach you.”

“All right,” said Tilda. “But if I can do the magic it would be wonderful. Tauriel glowed and everything!”

“We shall see,” said Thranduil. “It would certainly be wise for your people to have a healer.”

“Hilda does some stuff,” said Bain, from across the vegetable patch. “But I bet she’d like to have a helper.”

“Mister Óin is going to teach me too,” said Tilda cheerfully. “He was there too when Kíli was sick. So I’ll learn from everyone and then I’ll know _everything_.”

“All in good time, kitten,” said Bard, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “You’ve got plenty to be doing, what with your gardens and all.”

“I know,” said Tilda with a happy smile. “Ada, you have to see the other ones too, they’re all over the city and people are getting vegetables from them already!”

And off they went, through the streets, visiting one garden after another, passing houses that looked fully occupied, a market which seemed almost ready to receive customers and traders, walls and defences more or less fully restored. Thranduil, privately, thought that he had to admit that the Dwarves had done a fine job in helping Bard’s people with the work. Not that he would say it in Dáin’s hearing, of course.

Bain wanted to show off the training arena they had constructed - it was not much more than a makeshift covered area at the moment, but it clearly served its purpose - and explained eagerly that the archery butts were outside the city walls, but that they did not expect that to be a problem. 

“As long as no more surprise armies happen at us, of course,” the boy said with a grin, “and if they do, well, then we can use them for target practice instead.”

“Indeed,” laughed Thranduil, “and I am sure you will make them reconsider their actions by so doing.”

“That’s the plan,” said Bain, and for a while they fell into a discussion of strategy and tactics, and the best vantage points on the city walls. Tauriel chimed in here and there and Bard put in an observation or two, although mostly he seemed to be content to keep Thranduil’s hand held in his and to listen to the discussion. 

Eventually the sun was sliding lower in the sky, and Sigrid pointed out that it was getting close to dinner time. 

“We should get back to the big house,” she said, “I promised to help Agnes with dinner, and I’m sure you and Da could do with a chat before we eat.” She dimpled an innocent smile at them, and Thranduil raised one eyebrow at her, very slightly, to let her know that he, at least, was not fooled.

Sigrid just grinned at him, and turned to lead the way back to the house, taking Tilda’s hand and drawing her into a conversation with Tauriel about healing; Bain followed them as if by some unspoken consensus, leaving Thranduil and Bard to bring up the rear, dawdling slowly hand-in-hand. 

“I can’t quite tell you how much I’ve missed you,” Bard said after a moment. “Except that it’s an awful lot.”

“I know, meleth-nín.” Thranduil smiled a little ruefully. “I suspect I have missed you approximately the same amount. My halls felt very empty without you and the children; and yet there were wonderful memories everywhere I looked.” He darted a glance at Bard under his eyelashes. “Most especially my desk.”

Bard chuckled, grinning sheepishly. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that desk, you know. Most awkward, it’s been. _Especially_ when I found myself reading that letter of yours in front of the children.” He was flushing a most becoming shade of pink, and Thranduil found he could do nothing else but stop, right there in the street, pull Bard to him and kiss him soundly. 

“Perhaps that was at least partly my intention,” he murmured. “And the rest of my intention was to remind you of what awaits, now that we are together again.”

“Go on with you,” Bard said, “we’re in the middle of the street,” but he did not pull away. 

“Not for long,” Thranduil said. “You heard Sigrid, did you not, meleth-nín? We could indeed do with a chat, I think. In private. In my very delightful chambers.”

“I’m glad you like them,” said Bard a little weakly. “Everyone pulled together to get them ready.”

“And I am most grateful,” smiled Thranduil. “They are most charming, and I am very much looking forward to sharing them with you.” He stepped back a little, taking Bard’s hand again. “Now, come, we must go back to the house. After all, as you have pointed out, we are in the middle of the street.”

“Good point,” said Bard. “Let’s go.” And they hurried to catch the children up as they made their way back up the hill to the lord’s house. Bard and the family would be living there permanently within the month, Thranduil thought to himself, if he had anything to do with it. He had seen the city now, he knew everyone had been housed; there was no more excuse for them to stay in the tiny house they had been living in. Bard had been chosen by his people to lead them, they had given him the title of King; it was time he started living appropriately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> adarhanar: uncle (my own construction, literally: father-brother)  
> hanariel-nín: my niece (my own construction, literally; brother-daughter)  
> ada: father (informal)  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> meleth-nín: my love  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	75. Many Wonderful Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil finally get a little time alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yay, we are earning the rating again at long last! :D :D :D

When they arrived back at the house, Agnes was already in the kitchen, and Sigrid ushered Bain and Tilda into the kitchen with her, Tauriel following close behind.

“We need all the help we can get,” Sigrid said, “if we’re cooking for all of us. Not you two, though.” She grinned at Bard and Thranduil, and Bard rolled his eyes at her. 

“Go on with you, sweetheart,” he said. 

“Well, exactly,” said Sigrid, smiling sweetly. “You know I’m right. Dinner’s in an hour!” And then she was gone into the kitchen with the rest of them, all of them giggling, and Bard turned to Thranduil, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. 

“That’s us told,” he said. “They’re getting worse.”

But Thranduil only smiled. “I do not mind in the slightest, meleth-nín. Now, you heard Sigrid. Dinner is in an hour, and in the meantime I find I have a very great deal to say to you.” He tilted Bard’s chin up and kissed him softly. “Upstairs,” he said. 

“Upstairs,” Bard echoed with a smile. “You do realise that the children all know - more or less - what we’ll be doing up there, don’t you?”

Thranduil laughed, guiding him across the hallway and up the stairs with a gentle but firm hand at the small of his back. “Why, we shall be talking. Is that not what Sigrid said? We do, after all, have much to talk about, after these many long months apart.” His eyes were dancing with amusement when Bard glanced at him, and Bard could not help a laugh of his own.

“I suppose we do,” he said. “Although it wasn’t all that long, really. Ten weeks, maybe? And they’ve flown by, if I’m honest, they haven’t dragged like the winter did, even though I was just as busy over the winter.” He smiled. “I did miss you quite dreadfully, though, every moment.”

“As I have missed you,” said Thranduil, as they made their way along the corridor, back into the small suite of rooms that had been made ready for him; he closed the door firmly and then drew Bard into his arms, and Bard caught his breath, sliding his hands up Thranduil’s back to tangle in his hair, as Thranduil’s hands came up to frame his face and their lips met in a kiss far deeper than any they had shared so far since Thranduil’s arrival, searing and lingering and true and everything Bard had needed these last weeks.

“Oh, love,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, when they broke apart; sometimes he suspected that Thranduil did not actually need to breathe at all. “I’ve needed you so badly.”

“And now I am here,” said Thranduil, a smile in his voice, “and we have an hour together, and I feel that we should perhaps test the strength and comfort of the bed your people have so kindly provided for me.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Bard, still breathless, his fingers already going to the fastenings of Thranduil’s cloak, the clasps that held his long tunic together, his hips arching helplessly forward as Thranduil claimed his mouth again in a kiss as hard and intense as the last and walked him backwards towards the bedroom, hands slipping beneath his shirt and lifting it up as they went.

By the time they reached the bedroom door Thranduil’s cloak was gone, his tunic discarded with Bard’s jacket and shirt in a heap on the floor, Bard was kicking his boots off and frantically shoving at the hem of Thranduil’s soft, silken undershirt, while also dealing with the doubly distracting sensations of Thranduil’s mouth at his neck and his fingers at the fastenings of his trousers.

“I’d almost forgotten how much you undo me,” he half-gasped, fingers scrabbling against Thranduil’s skin as he finally managed to push the shirt up and over his beloved’s head. 

“Perhaps I should remind you a little more,” said Thranduil, sounding more than a little distracted. “Bed. Now.”

“I hear and obey, my King,” said Bard around a helpless, breathless laugh, and Thranduil rolled his eyes. 

“I have told you before, I am not your King. As you are not mine. I do not give you orders.”

“What was that, then?” asked Bard as he moved a little closer to the bed, just a little closer. 

“Merely a suggestion,” said Thranduil, that laugh in his voice again. “One I think you are not at all averse to following.”

“I never said I was,” said Bard, and he stepped back again, sat down on the bed and pulled Thranduil down with him in a flurry of long, soft silver hair, curling his hand around the back of Thranduil’s neck and holding him close for another long, soft kiss.

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil against his lips, arching down against him. “And now I have you exactly where I want you.”

“Funny,” said Bard, “‘cause I’ve got you exactly where I want _you_.” He grinned. “Take your boots off.”

Thranduil propped himself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow. “Are you giving orders now?” he asked, and Bard raised an eyebrow right back at him.

“Not at all,” he said. “Just making a suggestion. I mean, I can’t get your breeches off if you don’t take your boots off, and I’m sure you don’t want _that_.”

“Do you not want to take them off me?” The amusement was clearly audible in Thranduil’s voice, and his eyebrow was still raised; Bard laughed. 

“No,” he said, “I think I want to watch you take them off yourself.”

Thranduil flashed him a dark, delighted smile. “In that case, meleth-nín, I shall be delighted to oblige.” He rolled over and sat up, crossing one leg over the other and slowly undoing the laces of his boot, easing it down very deliberately and dropping it onto the floor, then repeating the action with the other boot. Bard watched, very intently, then drew in a deep breath and reached out to pull Thranduil back down to him. 

“You,” he said, “are _glorious_. Come here.”

“I could say the same for you,” said Thranduil, pressing another kiss to Bard’s mouth and then working his way very slowly down his neck, making Bard arch his head back and bite his lip against a helpless cry of arousal. “I think I shall do for you now what I did for you that first night here in Dale, for now I most certainly do not outrank you.” He glanced up at Bard with a sharp, mischievous grin, and shook his hair forward so that it trailed tantalisingly across Bard’s skin as he worked his way lower, grazing his teeth against one nipple and then the other, and then licking a trail down Bard’s torso to the fastenings of his trousers, already half-undone. 

“You’re going to be the end of me,” Bard gasped, his voice catching, and Thranduil laughed softly.

“Not yet, I hope,” he murmured, “or not in that sense, anyway. As for the other sense, you will have to give me a moment.”

“It won’t take much,” whispered Bard. “I’ve needed you so badly.”

Thranduil pressed a kiss to Bard’s hipbone and then raised his head a little, just enough to speak. “We do not have so very long in any case, meleth-nín,” he said, with another sharp smile, “but perhaps later I shall keep you up all night.”

“You are _definitely_ going to be the end of me,” said Bard a little unsteadily, “in all the senses there are, I think,” and then he let out a long, shuddering breath and gave himself over completely to the sensations of Thranduil’s hair across his skin, his fingers gently, surely peeling his trousers away, his mouth…just as he had on that very first night, Bard clapped a hand over his mouth against a cry as Thranduil slowly took him in, drawing his tongue around him, his long fingers spread out across Bard’s hips holding him in place. His other hand he sent chasing down to tangle in Thranduil’s hair, cradling the back of his head, wanting him to know just how much he wanted him, loved him, cherished him, always, _until the end of the earth and then after that, too_ , he found himself thinking as he arched and shuddered with pleasure, it really had not been so long, ten weeks instead of ten years, but even ten weeks was too long to go without this, without _him_ , his touch, his voice, his kiss, his _mouth_ , and he bit down against the wave that was building, that wanted to break over him, not yet, not _yet_ , but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, how could he ever resist _this_ , and it took him anyway, despite his best efforts, leaving him arching and shuddering and gasping as Thranduil swallowed him down and held him, for a moment, before he slowly withdrew, licking him clean with long, gentle swipes of his tongue; and all Bard could do was to lie there, drawing his fingers almost absently through Thranduil’s hair, trying to get his breath back. 

“There,” said Thranduil, sounding distinctly self-satisfied, “that is the only way in which I wish to be the end of you.” He crawled back up over Bard, shaking his hair around their faces like a curtain as he lowered his head to kiss Bard long and slowly, letting him taste himself upon his tongue. 

“Well,” said Bard, still struggling to make his breathing even out, “you’ve done it most comprehensively. I’m going to need a minute or two to get my breath back.”

Thranduil laughed softly and kissed him again. “I am sure we have at least half left to us of the hour Sigrid gave us, quite possibly more. There is plenty of time, meleth-nín. In the meantime, perhaps I shall kiss you until you have regained yourself.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to do much to help me get my breath back,“ said Bard with a helpless, sheepish chuckle, “but you won’t find me complaining.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil, around another kiss. “I certainly would not want you to feel you had grounds for complaint.”

“Keep doing that and I definitely won’t have any,” said Bard, “although I also might not be very much use to you before our hour is up.”

“No matter,” said Thranduil, “for we have the rest of the night, after we have put the children to bed. I am patient, meleth-nín, I can wait.”

Bard chuckled again. “You might have to,” he said, but in truth he was already beginning to feel a little less spent.

“We have plenty of time,” said Thranduil, stretching out alongside him and propping himself up on his elbow; Bard caught sight of something around his wrist, and reached out to touch - yes, it was the strip of leather he had twisted and tied around Thranduil’s wrist on the morning that he and his family had left the Woodland Realm, the strip of leather he used to use to tie his hair up.

“You’re still wearing it,” he murmured, and Thranduil smiled and leaned forward to kiss him.

“Of course I am,” he said. “It has kept you close to me, even though you have been far away. It has kept me from missing you too painfully, although I have still missed you very much.”

Bard smiled, feeling suddenly a little overwhelmed. “I still have the braid you gave me,” he said. “It hasn’t come undone, not even a little bit.”

“As it should not have done,” said Thranduil. “It will unravel only when we choose.”

Bard couldn’t quite find the words to respond to that; instead he reached up to tuck Thranduil's hair behind his ear, and quite deliberately brushed his fingers against the delicate, pointed tip, smiling as Thranduil caught his breath and bit his lip. 

“Anyway," he said after a moment, "if we've still got plenty of time, then maybe I’ll just start out slowly, and work you up.”

“You are more wicked than anyone gives you credit for,” said Thranduil, “including me, and perhaps I should know better by now.”

“Perhaps you should,” said Bard, “but there’s no harm in reminding you, occasionally.” He traced one finger down the outside of Thranduil’s ear, very slowly, then back up to the tip; Thranduil’s eyes fluttered closed and he let out a sigh that hitched at the end on an almost-silent moan. “I’ll never get over what this does to you,” Bard murmured. “Watching you. It’s such a simple thing -“ he drew his fingertip back and forth, still slowly, “but the way you react - it’s the most wonderful thing.”

“It is not the only wonderful thing you do to me,” whispered Thranduil, “there are many others, and I would savour them all.”

Bard laughed softly and leaned up to kiss him. “We haven’t time for all of them now,” he said, “but later - I promise.”

“You are a thoroughly wicked tease,” said Thranduil, but he was smiling, and Bard grinned, slipping one hand between them and placing the other flat on Thranduil’s chest, pushing him to lie back. 

“Maybe,” he said, “but never let it be said I don’t make good on my promises.” He curled his fingers around Thranduil’s arousal, stroking gently, and shifted so that he could kneel astride his legs and crouch over him, drawing the tip of his tongue all the way up the length of him and then around his head, taking him gradually into his mouth. Thranduil let out a long, soft moan as Bard took him further in, hollowing his cheeks to suck, very gently, one hand curled around his hipbone and the other stealing up his torso to splay across his chest, circling one nipple with his finger. 

“I would never - ai! - accuse you of such a thing, meleth-nín,” Thranduil gasped, and Bard grinned inwardly, continuing his ministrations until Thranduil was arching and - well, if it had been anyone else, Bard would have thought ‘whimpering’ would have been the word to use, but whimpering was certainly not something Thranduil did. 

He raised his head, just enough to speak. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, love,” he said, and Thranduil let out a breathless growl. 

“You are, however,” he said, a little unsteadily, “a wicked, shameless _tease_ and I - ah! -“ He sounded as though he was nearing the end of his tether, and Bard took pity on him, taking him back in and humming softly around him, coaxing him closer to the edge, closer, he could hear it in Thranduil’s voice, could feel it in the tension all through him, building, building, _there_ , and he held him tight all through it, swallowed him down and held him close as he came back down again, let him slip from his mouth and pulled himself back up to take Thranduil in his arms and drop a kiss into his hair, listening to his ragged breathing and feeling a sense of absolute wonder, that it was him who had brought this glorious, beautiful creature to this state of complete abandon. 

“Like I said,” he murmured, kissing Thranduil’s hair again, “I make good on my promises.”

“I know you do, meleth-nín,” whispered Thranduil, already sounding as though he was recovering. “It is one of the very many things I love about you.”

“One of these days,” said Bard, an idea coming to him, “I’m going to see how far I can push you just by doing this.” He traced one finger up the edge of Thranduil’s ear again, and Thranduil let out a low, moaning laugh. 

“Tease,” he said. “I am beginning to suspect that you may actually be the end of me.”

“We’ll see,” said Bard, chuckling under his breath. “But not now, we haven’t time.”

“Indeed we have not,” said Thranduil. “But I would like very much to lie here and hold you for a little while.”

“Me too,” said Bard. “I just want to remind myself you’re here and I don’t have to let go of you for a good long while.”

“I will stay until the autumn,” said Thranduil. “Feren is quite capable of looking after things in my absence.”

Bard smiled into Thranduil’s hair, it sounded as though his beloved had listened to what he had said, the night before they parted. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” he said. “And the children will be delighted.”

“I hope so,” said Thranduil. “I find I have missed them greatly.”

“They’ve missed you too,” Bard murmured. “They’ve all been talking about how excited they’ve been that you’re coming, wanting to show you what they’ve been doing. They want to make you proud of them, you know.”

“I am already proud of them,” said Thranduil, shifting so that he could press a kiss to Bard’s lips. “They are delightful, and so clever and talented, and just as compassionate and caring as their father. I cannot quite describe to you how glad I am that I found you, after the battle, and that you took me into your family even at that moment. That you did not let me walk away. You have all four of you changed my life completely, and so much for the better, and I love all of you more than I can tell you.”

“You’ve changed our lives too, love,” said Bard around another kiss. “We could never have done any of this without you. We make a good team, the five of us. Well, the six of us, because Tauriel’s part of this family too.”

“She is,” said Thranduil, smiling. “And then there is only one person missing.”

“He’ll be back,” said Bard, smoothing a hand over Thranduil’s hair. “Give him time. Besides, Tilda’s determined to get him back to you, so you’ll be seeing him before long, you know you will.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “I have already learned not to doubt her, but I am not sure how she will manage such a task, especially given that he is many leagues away, and not likely to be coming back this way.”

Bard chuckled. “Don’t think she’ll let a little thing like that get in her way.”

“Perhaps I should not worry myself about how she will achieve it, and simply trust that she will,” said Thranduil, and Bard kissed him again.

“That’s the spirit, love,” he said. “Now, come here. I think we have a little more time before dinner, don’t we?”

“I think we do,” said Thranduil with a smile, and they fell quiet again, simply revelling in each other’s company for a little while before they would have to rejoin their family for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	76. We Do Things Differently Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil have dinner with their family - and the household, which is a new experience for Thranduil.

They managed to put themselves back together again and appear downstairs, properly dressed and tidied up, before dinner was quite ready. Thranduil’s escort were already in the dining room, and Bard thought that they probably were not used to dining in such close proximity to their King, but that they and their King were going to have to get used to it while they were in Dale. This was where there was space to put them, and so this was where they would eat, with the family.

There was a hubbub of conversation coming from the kitchen, and Tauriel stuck her head out of the door as they crossed the hall. 

“We won’t be long,” she said. “There are still a few more things to do, and Tilda, at least, is going to have to wash her face before she may sit at the table.”

“What has she done?” asked Bard, making for the kitchen, and Tauriel laughed and shook her head. 

“Everything is fine. Go and make yourselves comfortable in the dining room. There is wine, and I think none of the Guards or Galion want to help themselves before you have arrived, Adarhanar.” She flashed them a bright smile and ducked back into the kitchen.

“Well, I think they deserve a drink,” said Bard. “Come on, love, let’s go and put them out of their misery.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “I am to pour wine for my guards and my valet?” he asked, and Bard grinned. 

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll do it,” he said. “Can’t have you serving your people, but I’m only barely a king and I didn’t want the title anyway, so I don’t mind one bit.” He placed a hand in the small of Thranduil’s back, as Thranduil had done for him earlier, and conducted him into the dining room, where the Guards all snapped to attention, while Galion stood straight, and they all saluted, hands on hearts and heads bowed. 

Thranduil said something in his own language, and the Guards all relaxed a little; Bard assumed he had told them to be at their ease. Galion said something in return, gesturing to the wine decanter, and before Thranduil could respond, Bard stepped in.

“Welcome, all of you,” he said. “Let me pour you all a goblet of wine, and then you must tell me your names. Meludir, I remember you, and Galion, of course, but I am afraid I do not know the rest of you.” He crossed the room to the big table, where the wine decanter stood with a group of metal goblets salvaged from the Lake-town hoard, and filled each goblet, pushing them across the table to the Guards and Galion, who took them with bewildered looks. Lastly he passed a goblet to Thranduil and took one for himself. “I am very glad to have you all here,” he said, and he raised his goblet and then drank. 

Everyone else followed suit, and Thranduil translated for him and introduced the Guards he did not know; there was Elros, Nenuial, Tathoriel and Lalvenion, and Bard hoped he would remember which name belonged to which Elf.

“We are very pleased to be here, my Lord,” said Meludir shyly after a few moments, casting a worried glance at Thranduil; Bard thought it was probably not considered usual for the members of the Guards to speak so freely, but Thranduil said nothing. “Dale is very beautiful again already.”

“Thank you,” said Bard with a smile that he hoped was encouraging. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do, but I think we’ve come a long way since you were last here.” He had to admit to himself that he was proud of how the city was looking after only eight months of work. His people had worked so hard, and they were getting along so well with Dáin’s Dwarven workforce; he thought he might dare to hope that Dale truly could become the capital of the North again.

At that point Tilda appeared, her face looking very freshly washed. “You all have to sit down,” she announced. “We’re bringing dinner in!” 

Bard glanced at Thranduil, and then at the other Elves. “You’ll soon learn, if you didn’t know it already, that when Tilda tells you to do something, you’re best off doing it,” he said with a grin, pulling out a chair and sitting down, purposefully choosing a seat in the centre of one of the long sides of the table; he wasn’t having any nonsense about who sat at the head of the table, not in his city. Thranduil came to sit next to him, and once he was seated, his Guards and Galion took their own seats. 

In a moment or two, Bain, Sigrid and Tauriel came in, each bearing a large dish, and Agnes followed behind carrying a stack of plates and cutlery. They had the table set in short order, all of them taking seats, and Sigrid leaned over to dish up hot stew and some of Tilda’s early vegetables.

“This is delicious, sweetheart,” said Bard, “and compliments to the gardener on the carrots.”

“The leeks are mine too, Da,” said Tilda around a mouthful of stew and Bard raised an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t mean you can talk with your mouth full, kitten,” he said.

Tilda swallowed and grinned not at all repentantly across the table at him. “Sorry, Da. But they’re mine anyway. We picked them earlier.”

“They have grown very quickly,” said Thranduil, making a mental note to enquire of his gardeners if they might have placed any enchantments upon the plants they gave Tilda, to ensure they grew quickly and well. “And they taste wonderful, pen-neth. I should think you will be feeding the whole city soon, and they will be very pleased that you are.”

Tilda beamed at him, and for a moment Bard thought she was going to crawl under the table and onto Thranduil’s lap, but she stayed put, grinning happily to herself as she watched everyone else eating and enjoying the vegetables she had grown.

Soon enough Bain had drawn Meludir and Nenuial into a conversation about the training he had been doing, and Tathoriel, with the help of Tauriel and Galion as translators, was asking Tilda about her gardens. Sigrid fell into a conversation with Elros and Lalvenion, introducing Agnes to them and translating as best she could. Bard smiled to watch Agnes blushing and stammering; not all that long ago she had been the Lake-town cobbler’s daughter and now here she was dining with Elves. Well, they had all got to know the Elves a little better during the month or so after the battle, but Bard did not think Agnes had become at all used to them.

“Our people are becoming more integrated,” he said quietly to Thranduil, and grinned to himself when Thranduil’s eyebrow went up - automatically, he thought; he did not think his beloved minded at all, but for the sake of appearances and to send himself up he was pretending.

“Your children are bewitching my Guards,” said Thranduil, but his eyes were dancing and there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“They’re making friends,” said Bard. “They’re good at that, as you well know.”

“To my cost,” said Thranduil, sighing softly but dramatically, and Bard laughed. 

“Give over, love,” he said. “The only cost has been to your image, and the rest of it has all been on the credit side. And you know it.”

“I certainly never thought I would find myself dining with my Guards, my valet and your cook,” said Thranduil, quietly enough that Agnes would not hear him, and Bard rolled his eyes.

“You always knew we’d be doing things differently here,” he said. “I’m not setting myself up above the rest of the people. You’re different, you were born into nobility, you inherited your crown. Mine’s been given me by my people because for some reason they think I’ll do a better job than any of them at getting Dale back on its feet. I was born one of them and I’ll stay one of them if it’s the last thing I do.” He grinned at Thranduil and kissed him on the cheek. “So in this house, we’ll all dine together. This is the first meal we’re having under this roof, and we’re starting as I mean to go on.”

“You are most admirable, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil. “I do not pretend to understand, but as you say, our lives began very differently, our situations are nothing alike. It stands to reason that arrangements in your realm will be different to those in mine.”

“I’m glad you see it my way,” said Bard, smiling contentedly. “It just means that when you’re here, you’ll have to be used to dining with the household. Besides, Agnes isn’t my cook, she’s her own woman and she’s helping us of her own free will. Even when we do move in here, we’ll still be looking after the place ourselves as much as we can.”

“As long as you do not expect me to join in with the cooking and the cleaning,” said Thranduil, the slightest hint of distaste curling his upper lip, although after a moment he continued. “I have never had to do any of those things and I do not have the first idea how to do them.”

Bard smiled. “I can teach you if you like,” he said. “But on the other hand, you’re a guest in my house and we don’t expect guests to pitch in with the housework, so you’re safe. Unless you find you want to stay, in which case we’ll find you something to do.” He flashed Thranduil a grin, and hoped he didn’t sound as though he was putting pressure on him; he hadn’t said it with any expectation that Thranduil actually would stay beyond the autumn, but still, at the same time, he found he did really want him to. Thranduil had only been here a few hours but already Bard could not quite bear to think of him leaving again.

“You are not exactly persuading me to stay,” said Thranduil, though, with a look in his eyes that Bard could not quite interpret, and Bard caught his breath. 

“We could find you something you’d enjoy doing,” he said, a little weakly. “If you want to stay, that is.”

“I would like nothing more,” said Thranduil very quietly. “But I have a kingdom of my own to think about.”

“You wouldn’t be away so long, by your standards,” said Bard, carefully. “All things considered.”

“Perhaps,” said Thranduil. “I confess I have been thinking about it, but I must think some more, and consider it carefully, before I give you my answer.”

Bard’s heart leapt, but he nodded, understanding. “Don’t leap into it. Well, any more than you already have, with me. Just…just know that you’d be more than welcome, if you decided you wanted to. I’d love it, if you decided to stay.”

Thranduil smiled, softly, and brushed a kiss across Bard’s mouth. “I know, meleth-nín. As would I. But I must consider all the aspects of this before I may make my decision.”

“I know, love,” said Bard. “Whatever you decide will be fine with me.” He rested his hand on Thranduil’s thigh, under the table, and glanced around at everyone, his family enjoying their dinner and their conversations. For a first meal in the lord’s house, he thought, though he had no intention of moving in here yet, this was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	77. My Word Is My Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, Bard and Thranduil take a walk in the gardens to watch the sunset, and then...go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff alert! :D

When dinner was over, Tauriel showed the Guards and Galion to their rooms, which were at the other end of the corridor from Thranduil’s rooms, he noted with some relief; and then she and Sigrid made a great show of hustling Bain and Tilda out of the house to be put to bed in the little house down the hill.

“Sleep well,” Sigrid wished the pair of them, making it quite clear, without saying anything, that Bard was absolutely not expected to return to the little house before morning, and then they were gone, leaving Thranduil and Bard standing together in the hallway, completely alone except for each other. The sun was just beginning to set, although it was late; it was almost Midsummer, after all. 

“Will you walk with me in the gardens?” Thranduil asked Bard. “I find I would very much like to watch the sun setting with you, for we have not yet had the chance to do such a thing.”

Bard smiled, and tucked his hand into the crook of Thranduil’s elbow. “I’d love to,” he said. “In any case, you had Tilda’s tour of the important bits earlier - where she’s growing things, I mean - but you haven’t seen the rest of it.” He led Thranduil through the kitchen to the door which led to the garden, and they stepped out into the warm, golden evening light. 

Thranduil glanced at Bard and could not help a smile, his heart catching in his throat at the sight of his beloved, bathed in the last rays of sunlight, painting him in highlights of gold against the flaming red sky. He had to wonder to himself whether, if he had met Bard at another time, when his composure had not been shattered by the battle, perhaps he might still have been swayed by Bard’s limitless compassion, his handsome face. He could not quite imagine his life without Bard any more, nor could he really remember what it had been like, before; except that it had been cold, and empty, and echoing with loneliness. 

He pulled Bard into a loose embrace, resting his cheek on Bard’s thick, soft dark hair, and closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in Bard’s warm, smoky scent. He did not know how he had become so irretrievably lost, but he could no longer imagine being anything else. 

Bard tightened his arms around Thranduil’s waist and turned his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Thranduil’s neck, just above the collar of his robe. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured. “I kept myself busy, so as not to miss you too much, but it didn’t work. Every time I stopped, I could almost feel your touch on my skin, but not quite, because you weren’t there, and it _ached_.”

“I am here now,” said Thranduil. “I am here, and my touch is real. And in a little while I will show you.”

He felt Bard shiver against him at that, and he drew one hand up Bard’s back to trace under his hair, fingers trailing up and down the back of his neck. 

“Or we could go upstairs now,” said Bard quietly, the faintest hint of a laugh in his voice. “The sunset’s lovely, and all, but it isn’t nearly as lovely as you.”

“You are very charming, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, chuckling softly. “Give me a few moments to watch the sky. I do not usually see the sunset, for my halls face east.”

“All right,” said Bard, shifting and turning in Thranduil’s arms until he was resting back against his chest, leaning his head back to rest on Thranduil’s shoulder and turning them very slightly to look out to the west, at the ribbons of dark cloud at the horizon glowing red and orange and purple as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky. 

“My people have always sought out the beauty in the world,” Thranduil murmured. “Sunrises, sunsets, the glory of the stars in the night sky, the forests and the rivers and the mountains. And I have found it here, in you and in your children, in your compassion and hard work, your care for your people. Sometimes, I have learned, not all beauty is visible.” He smiled, and pressed a kiss into Bard’s hair, drawing one finger down the side of his face. “Although a great deal of yours is.”

Bard was silent for a long moment. “I don’t pretend to understand it,” he said eventually. “You’re the most stunningly beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what you see in me. But I won’t question it. I don’t understand it, but I trust you.”

“I am glad of it, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil softly. “And now, see, the sun is gone and the sky darkens. Perhaps we should go indoors.”

“Before you get all distracted by the stars,” Bard said, a laugh in his voice. “Come on. We need to go and test out that bed a little further. I don’t think we paid nearly enough attention to how comfortable it is, earlier.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I believe we were both a little distracted,” he said, “given that it was the first time we had had the chance to be alone in a long time. But perhaps now we will be able to assess it with clearer minds.”

“We’ll see,” said Bard, turning in his arms again to kiss him. “Come on, then. Let’s see how far we get before we get all distracted.” He pulled back until Thranduil loosed his arms from around him, and took his hand, drawing him back towards the house. The gardens could wait, thought Thranduil, they could take a walk some other time. 

They slipped back in through the kitchen door, closing it quietly behind them, and made their way through the house, up the stairs, along the corridor of the wing that had been restored for Thranduil and his people, through the door to his rooms; Bard turned the key in the lock, ensuring they would not be disturbed, and Thranduil smiled. 

“Now, meleth-nín,” he said, “let us go and pay a little more attention to the comfort of the bed your people have provided for us.”

“Well, they provided it for you,” Bard said, “but they did it in secret, for me, so that I didn’t have to worry about it, so -“ he ducked his head, “I suppose they did do it for both of us, then,” he said, “only they weren’t thinking of it like this.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “I suspect they are now,” he said. “After your little gesture at the gate.”

Bard gave him a sheepish smile. “You didn’t mind, did you? I couldn’t quite help myself, you were just _there_ and I’d missed you so badly and I was so fed up of keeping this a secret, and -“ he broke off as Thranduil leaned in and kissed him soundly, shutting him up quite effectively.

“I do not mind,” he said. “I am sure it will cause some issues with Dáin, but to be honest with you I am quite looking forward to those. As long as you do not think it will cause problems for you with your people.”

Bard shrugged. “They’ll have to get used to it. Besides, they’ve all known me a long time. They know I don’t do things lightly, or without consideration. And I hope they know I won’t ever do anything that will be to their disadvantage.”

“They should,” said Thranduil, kissing him again. “All will be well. Now, what was that about testing the comfort of that bed?”

Bard flashed him a sheepish grin. “We got distracted again,” he said. “Come on. Quick, before it happens yet again.”

They made their way hastily through into the bedroom, though not as hastily as earlier; now the urgency was sated, Thranduil thought, and what he wanted most of all was to lie in bed with Bard in his arms, to feel Bard’s skin against his, to take in his warmth and keep it close to his heart. Everything else could come later. 

They undressed each other slowly, carefully, almost reverently, a complete contrast to their earlier haste, folding each garment and setting it aside on the chair that sat under the window. Bard pulled back the coverlet on the bed - they certainly had not got that far, earlier - and they both climbed in and slid under the covers, drawn into each other’s arms by some inexorable force. Thranduil smiled, tracing his fingertips up and down Bard’s spine, feeling the shivers his touch sent across Bard’s skin. 

“I promised you, did I not,” he whispered, “that I would show you that I am here now, that this touch you feel upon your skin is real. Does it ache less, now, meleth-nín?”

“It does not ache at all,” said Bard, arching against him, hungry for contact, Thranduil thought, just as he himself was. He sent a hand skating down to the small of Bard’s back, holding him close, relishing the sound of Bard’s suddenly-unsteady breathing. 

“I am glad,” he said, tangling his other hand in Bard’s hair and tilting his head up for a kiss, soft and searing. “For me, as well, the ache has gone. You are here.”

“I’m here,” said Bard, leaning in for another kiss. “And I’m not going anywhere. And I honestly think that neither should you, if you don’t have to. You know, just for - for as long as we have, before Sigrid’s grown and ready to be Queen, and I can run away to the forest with you.”

“How long will that be, do you think?” Thranduil asked.

“Five years or so, probably,” Bard said, “you’ve seen how good she already is. Ten years, tops. Which is probably the blink of an eye for you.”

“It will pass like no time,” said Thranduil, “but if I am not with you it will feel like time wasted. Perhaps you are right. A decade is not at all a long time for my people.”

“Think about it,” said Bard, quietly, intently. “I don’t want to pressure you, but - but I don’t - I don’t think I can bear to let you go again.”

“I will,” said Thranduil. “I will decide by the autumn, I promise you.” He drew in a long breath, and then let it out in a sigh. “I do not wish to let you go, either. Your time is necessarily limited, and I do not want to waste any of it.”

“I just want to be with you,” said Bard. “I feel like I can cope with all of this so much better if you’re here. Not even because you know more about it all than I do, just because you’re you, and I love you, and I just…I feel better when I’m with you.” He smiled. “Besides, the children adore you, and it would give you more chance to sort things out with Tauriel. It’d do all of us good, not just you and me.”

“You make a good case,” Thranduil said, laughing softly and pressing another kiss to Bard’s mouth. “I am sure by the end of the summer you will have convinced me completely.”

Bard grinned happily. “I’ll do my best. And in the meantime -“ he arched again, lazily rubbing the length of his body against Thranduil’s, “we have all summer to do whatever we like - at night, anyway. I’ll be busy during the days, and I suspect you will too, between the children. They’re all very keen to involve you in absolutely everything.”

“I hope you will not be too busy to spend some of your days with me,” said Thranduil. “I am sure there are many things with which I may help you. But of course I shall be delighted to be involved in whatever schemes the children have for me.”

“You’ll be welcome with me any time. I don’t think you’ll like the physical work bits - I’ve been learning all sorts of building things with the Dwarves, and we still have the rest of the house to sort out before Lord Elrond and his people arrive - but there’s any number of other things too. Plus the talks with Dáin. We’ve got a busy summer ahead of us.”

“But our nights will be our own,” said Thranduil, stretching, “and as luck would have it, this bed is really very comfortable indeed.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Bard, also stretching out, reaching above his head and then bringing his arms back down to wrap around Thranduil again. “It’s a far cry from - well, every bed I’ve ever slept in except yours, and the one in the rooms you gave us in your halls. Which is to say, the bed in the little house here, and the one in our house in Lake-town, both of which were straw pallets on wooden boards. This is _much_ better.” He chuckled. “I feel like I’m cheating; this bed wasn’t intended for me, and everyone else is still on their straw pallets and their wooden boards.”

“You have worked harder than anyone, I suspect, to see Dale rebuilt in so short a time, meleth-nín. You deserve to sleep in a comfortable bed, and if it bothers you so much, perhaps we can look into providing better mattresses for your people. Better living conditions in general. I understand you have been working to lay on running water, so perhaps we might make a few more steps towards giving your people not only roofs over their heads, but comfortable houses to live in.”

Bard smiled, settling his head on Thranduil’s chest. “I’d like that, love,” he said. “Now we’ve housed them, if we can make those houses better, I owe it to them.” He yawned, stifling it behind his hand, and Thranduil shook his head, smiling, and kissed his hair.

“Sleep now, meleth-nín,” he said. “You have been overworking yourself, and I intend to do something about that, too. Sleep, and we can continue our testing of this comfortable bed tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. We have all summer.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Bard said around another yawn. “But everyone’s been working hard, it’s not just me.”

“Perhaps they all need encouraging to take things a little more slowly,” said Thranduil, amused. “Perhaps that will be my job - to make sure nobody overworks themselves, and everybody takes time to appreciate what you have all achieved already. But for now, no more talk. Sleep, and I will be here in the morning.”

“I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you’ll have just been a dream,” said Bard, a little sheepishly. 

“I am no dream,” said Thranduil, tightening his arms about him. “I am as real as you are, and I will hold you throughout the night and I will be here in the morning when you wake. And every morning, until the autumn at least.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Bard said, yawning again, his eyes falling closed at last and his breathing slowly deepening. 

“My word is my bond,” Thranduil murmured, but Bard was already asleep, and Thranduil settled down to watch over him throughout the night. And in the morning they would settle into the way their lives would be, at least for the summer and autumn of this year; although he was thinking very seriously about Bard’s invitation. To stay until Sigrid was grown and able to take over as Queen, if the people wanted her, which Thranduil was sure they would - that sounded wonderful. Perhaps the Woodland Realm could cope without him for five years, or ten. Perhaps Feren could act as regent for him. He had dedicated his whole life to his kingdom, after all, and a decade was not so very long, in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps - perhaps he was not indispensable after all. The thought stung a little, but at the same time, if it allowed him to spend as much time as possible with his new family, to make the most of their fleeting lives, perhaps it would be worth it.

Perhaps. He was only fooling himself with this feigned uncertainty. Of course it would be worth it. He must still weigh up the advantages and disadvantages, his responsibilities against his desires. But he thought he already knew which way his decision would fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	78. Every Inch Of Your Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil wake up early...and take full advantage of having nothing to do just yet except each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From fluff to rating-earning! :D

Bard woke early, the last hints of the sunrise still colouring the sky when he yawned and opened his eyes, confused for a moment; why was the bed so comfortable, he wasn’t in the Woodland Realm, why was this not his straw-stuffed pallet, why was he…not alone…and he remembered, then, as he shifted a little and realised his head was pillowed upon a strong chest, hard muscle and soft skin, silver hair floating in front of his eyes, strong arms around him, slow, quiet breathing… _Thranduil_ , he thought, and a smile came to his face almost unbidden; Thranduil was here, at last, in Dale with him. They did not have to snatch meetings in Thranduil’s campaign tent after dark, not any more, they did not have to keep what they shared a secret, there was the distinct possibility that Thranduil would stay even after the talks in the autumn…Bard felt his heart turn over in his chest with joy at the thought of it, that he would not, after all, have to spend the rest of his life alone, as he had assumed before the battle, before the dragon, or that he would not have to spend half of his time alone in Dale, missing Thranduil at home in the forest. 

“Good morning, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, his deep voice soft with affection, and Bard stretched and smiled, turning in his arms to reach up for a kiss. 

“Morning,” he said. “How did you sleep? If you slept, I’m never quite sure, with you.”

Thranduil smiled. “I rested very well, thank you. Better for having you with me. And I think you slept quite deeply, if not, perhaps, for as long as you might have done.”

Bard shrugged, shifting a little. “Makes no sense to waste the daylight while we have it,” he said. “Too much to do.” 

“Which is why you slept so deeply,” said Thranduil. “There is no point exhausting yourself, for who will step in when you reach the point of collapse? Sigrid cannot bear that burden for you yet, and I do not think your people would accept myself or Dáin as their ruler, even if only temporarily.”

“I have things I must do,” Bard protested. “Your kingdom is well-established; this one is doing everything for the first time. Everything has to be considered, set up, tested, considered again. And we’re still rebuilding. None of this stuff can wait just because I’m a bit tired.”

“And if you work yourself to exhaustion, it will all have to wait anyway.” Thranduil sighed. “Meleth-nín, will you at least consider working a little less hard? Is there anything I might do, while I am here, which will ease the burdens upon you?”

Bard shook his head. “They’re my tasks, love, my responsibilities. With the greatest of respect, my people didn’t choose me to lead them only to have you doing all the work.”

“And they did not choose you to make you work yourself into the ground,” Thranduil said firmly. “Your work does not need to proceed at so breakneck a pace. Dale and its people will not suffer if you proceed a little more slowly and take some time for yourself, particularly while I am here.” He smiled, and shifted a little, leaning in for a kiss. “I should be sad if I had come all this way only to see you fleetingly in passing. Anything I may usefully do for you, without compromising your position, I will gladly do, and it would please me greatly if you would at least consider allowing yourself some free time. It would be nice, for example, to eat lunch together, perhaps spend the occasional morning or afternoon walking in the streets or sitting in the gardens.”

Bard sighed, closing his eyes for a moment; of course Thranduil was right. It would be unforgivable and stupid for him to spend all his time working when Thranduil was here, _with him_. But how could he neglect his duties at this most crucial time for his people and their new city?

“I’ll try,” he said eventually. “I’m sorry, love. I’ll - lunch sounds good. I can’t not see you while you’re here. I can’t neglect my duties either, I did that enough when we came to stay with you in the spring.”

“And everything proceeded perfectly satisfactorily without you, did it not?” Thranduil pointed out.

“It did,” Bard admitted, “but it’s not fair of me to push everything onto Percy again. I’ve been given a job to do, and I have to do it.” He paused. “A morning off every now and then sounds nice. Sitting in the gardens, and such.”

“Or, perhaps, spending a little while relearning each other,” Thranduil murmured, “or learning new things about each other.” He lowered his head to press a kiss to the place where Bard’s neck met his shoulder, and Bard drew in a long, shuddering breath. 

“You are far too persuasive, my love,” he said, arching his neck, and Thranduil chuckled against his skin, biting gently. 

“Not at all,” he murmured. “I am exactly the right amount of persuasive to make sure you do what you need to do, not what you think you must do.”

“And what is it that you think I need to do?” Bard asked, although he already had a fairly good idea of what Thranduil’s answer would be.

“Generally, you need to rest a little more and work a little less. But specifically, at this precise moment, you need to spend an hour or two here, with me, testing further the comfort of this bed.” Thranduil bit down on Bard’s shoulder again, and Bard laughed a little breathlessly. 

“I can’t argue with that, now, can I?” he said. “Besides, it’s far too early for anyone else to be up and about, so I can’t start working yet.”

“Precisely,” said Thranduil, sounding somewhat triumphant. “And that is why you are going to stay here, with me. I am going to kiss every inch of your skin, and then I am going to make love to you as I have wanted to do since you rode away from me ten weeks ago. And then you are going to sleep some more.”

Bard shook his head, defeated. “I can’t argue with you, love,” he said. “Not when you put it so - well, persuasively.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” said Thranduil. “And now - every inch of your skin, I said, and I meant it.” He began to work his way along Bard’s shoulder, then back, tracing the line of his collarbone, pausing to press an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow at the centre, at the base of Bard’s neck, his fingers fluttering down Bard’s arms, tracing the lines of his muscles, and Bard thought, absently, as he felt the ends of Thranduil’s beautiful hair trailing across his skin, raising goosebumps in their wake, that perhaps all those years of manual labour had not been in vain - not to mention the hard physical work he had been doing almost non-stop, with the exception of that blissful month of rest in the Woodland Realm, since the fall of Lake-town eight months ago. At least he could make a good showing on behalf of the race of Men, though he could never aspire to Thranduil’s glorious physique…and then Thranduil shifted, drawing a line with his tongue down the centre of Bard’s torso, and Bard stopped thinking, utterly distracted.

He threaded one hand into Thranduil’s hair, letting it fall through his fingers, and then traced one fingertip along the edge of Thranduil’s ear, up to rub at the tip and then down to the lobe, and then back up again; Thranduil gasped against his skin but was not deterred or distracted. Well, then, thought Bard, perhaps he should make good on his idea from the previous afternoon, and see how far he could push this. He kept tracing his finger back and forth across the tip of Thranduil’s ear - how delicate it was, how exotic, how sensitive, how unlike Bard’s own ordinary, dull, rounded ears - and drinking in Thranduil’s increasingly unsteady breathing, as unsteady as his own, as Thranduil drew his tongue across the base of his stomach from one hipbone to the other, deftly avoiding his arousal; Bard whimpered very softly at that, arching his hips up, and took the tip of Thranduil’s ear between his fingers, pinching gently. He uncurled the fingers of his other hand from the bedsheets, too, and sent them into Thranduil’s hair in search of the other eartip; he was rewarded with a growl, and Thranduil raised his head to look at him, eyes dark and burning with sudden desire. 

“I told you I wanted to see how far I could push you,” Bard said, a little breathlessly, and Thranduil growled again, sliding sinuously up over him, somewhat quicker than Bard had expected him to, and pinning him down with his hips, drawing his arousal alongside Bard’s.

“Far enough,” he said, his voice a little deeper than usual, a little rougher, and Bard caught his breath. “You find all of my limits and you push past them, meleth-nín. I cannot wait any longer.” He raised his head, glancing around the room, and his eyes lit upon his saddlebags, standing in the corner of the room where they had presumably been left by one of his Guards. “You. Stay there,” he commanded, and rolled off the bed, padding over to the saddlebags and crouching to rummage through them, looking for all the world like a predatory animal. 

“I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere,” said Bard and Thranduil, finding what he was looking for, turned and stood with a sharp grin, returning to the bed and crawling over Bard again; this must be what it’s like being stalked by a big cat, Bard thought, a tiger or something, absolutely helpless in the face of his terrifying, deadly grace…and then a slick, slender finger was tracing a line between his legs, across his entrance, and his thought tailed off as he bit his lip and gasped, arching to push down against the gentle pressure, suddenly needing this so badly after so many weeks without.

Bard was dimly conscious that he was digging his fingers into Thranduil’s shoulders as his beloved prepared him gently but very thoroughly, his mouth at Bard’s ear, teeth grazing across it; it wasn’t as sensitive as Thranduil’s, thought Bard distractedly, but it still felt incredible, and he knew he was whimpering, knew he sounded terribly, dreadfully needy, but the truth was that he _was_ , he had missed this - missed _Thranduil_ \- so badly.

“Please, love,” he whispered, “I need you. I’m ready, I promise. I can’t…”

“I am very tempted to tease you as you have been teasing me, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, his voice dark, and Bard bit his lip against a cry of frustration. 

“Not like this,” he stuttered out, “not this far,” and Thranduil laughed. 

“Do not underestimate yourself,” he said, “but perhaps I should take pity on you after all.”

Bard growled, more or less past pleading, and dug his fingers into Thranduil’s shoulders again. “No…more…” he said, “please.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil, “since you ask so nicely,” and he shifted, replacing his fingers with the head of his arousal and pushed, slowly, slowly, and Bard tipped his head back and gasped as Thranduil filled him as he had needed him to. 

He wrapped his legs around Thranduil, holding him close, as close as he could, crossing his ankles and digging his heels into the small of Thranduil’s back and drawing him further in as he moved, rolling slowly into one long, leisurely thrust after another. Bard didn’t need anything more, just then, than this, slow and deep and so very intense, nothing else in the world than this. 

The moment stretched, lingered, felt as though it would last for ever, the early morning sun streaming through the window, brightening the whitewashed walls, and the sense of something eternal between them, something that would never, _could_ never end, slow, inexorable, building, building, gradually a little faster, a little faster, a little harder, soft cries and ragged gasps filling the air. 

But of course nothing could last for ever, thought Bard, not even this, no matter how much he might want it to, and eventually their slow pace became _too_ slow, almost unbearable, and Bard arched upwards, tightening his legs around Thranduil’s waist, pleading softly, incoherently for _more_.

“I cannot refuse you anything, meleth-nín,” murmured Thranduil, brushing a kiss across Bard’s somewhat fevered brow, and he rolled his hips downwards, a little harder, a little faster, and Bard dug his fingers into Thranduil’s shoulders and tipped his head back and let the sensations take him, building slowly, slowly, higher, higher, faster still and harder, and he hung on the edge for a long moment - and then he fell, tensing and tightening and crying out, dimly registering Thranduil letting go too as it broke over him in wave after wave, leaving him wrung out and collapsing boneless on the bed.

“Oh, love,” he gasped eventually, when he had got his breath back enough to speak, “I have _missed_ you. So much.”

“And I have missed you, meleth-nín,” whispered Thranduil, burying his face in Bard’s hair, “as though a part of myself was gone. I know I have my own duties, but I cannot quite countenance the idea of leaving you.”

“You don’t have to,” Bard said, quietly, smoothing his hand over Thranduil’s hair, sifting it through his fingers. “You’re welcome here for as long as you want to stay. Everything else can be worked around.” 

“The wards that protect my realm cannot be neglected for too long,” said Thranduil. “I must renew them from time to time, if I am not always there myself.”

“We can work around that,” said Bard. “Depending on how often and how long it’ll take, I could come with you. Or you can go and come back.” He shifted a little so that he could press a kiss to Thranduil’s temple. “If you want to make your home here, for the time being, I couldn’t be happier.”

“I will need to consider it,” said Thranduil, “but by the autumn I hope I will have come to the right decision, for all of us.”

“I know, love,” said Bard. “And if any of us can do anything to help, you just say.”

“I will,” said Thranduil. “But for now -“ he shifted and gently withdrew, going in search of a cloth and then returning to clean them both up, “for now, you must sleep a while longer, before your day begins.”

“I think it’s already begun quite beautifully,” said Bard with a smile, “but if you’re going to stay here with me then I won’t complain.”

“I had not planned to go anywhere,” murmured Thranduil, stretching out under the covers and pulling Bard close against him. “So for now I will kiss you, and you will sleep, and I will wake you when it is time to get up.”

Bard turned his face up for Thranduil’s kiss, humming contentedly against his lips, though he had to pull away to hide a yawn behind his hand; much as he wanted to pretend he wasn’t exhausted, he really was. But if he could sleep a little longer, here in Thranduil’s arms, he would feel better when he awoke, and better able to face whatever he had to do, with Thranduil by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	79. Trust Those Around You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil lets Bard sleep in, and then later gives him a lesson or two in the fine art of delegation. And they run into Bofur.

Thranduil watched as Bard slept, noting the lines around his eyes and the shadows under them, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He was exhausted, that much was clear, he had been thoroughly overworking himself. Despite Bard’s protestations, Thranduil was determined to do something about that. There might be a great deal to do, but there was nothing that said it all had to be done at once, or by a particular day. Admittedly, the restoration of the rest of the lord’s house must be a priority, for Elrond and his household would be arriving in a little over three months, and Thranduil could understand Bard’s desire to give his people more comfortable accommodation, now they had been housed, and his wish to re-establish Dale’s markets and its trading, its market-gardens and its artisans. But there was only so much that he could do, and Thranduil was determined to make sure he prioritised the tasks upon his plate. His people were surely capable of getting on with a great many of them on their own. 

He wondered if perhaps he should talk to Percy, or to Hilda. Sigrid would certainly be in favour of her father working a little less hard, and Thranduil had the distinct impression both Percy and Hilda felt a little parental towards Bard; they would probably also be in favour. And, it occurred to him, if he was going to be spending an extended amount of time in Dale, it would be as well if he began to get to know at least some of the people who knew Bard best.

Bard shifted, murmuring in his sleep, and Thranduil smoothed a hand over his hair and then down his arm, hoping to soothe him so that he would not wake up again just yet. The sun was climbing a little higher in the sky, but barely anyone was up and about yet; Thranduil could hear a few voices in the street, the footsteps of one or two people, but Dale was certainly not awake and bustling yet, and Thranduil had no intention of letting Bard get up until everyone else was beginning their day. He could let them get started on their own for a change, rather than rushing here and there as everyone began their work. The people of Dale were trustworthy, as far as Thranduil could work out, and they liked Bard; they could therefore be trusted to work on their own.

For himself, he was going to watch Bard sleep, then watch him awaken, and put him into the bath that he could just see through a door in the corner of the room, quite probably with himself as company. Then they would visit the kitchen to find themselves some breakfast, and then, Thranduil was determined, they would take that breakfast outside and eat it in the gardens, in the morning sunshine. And then, when they had eaten their fill, and only then, would he allow Bard to begin working; and even then, only in a supervisory capacity, and only on the works to the rest of this house.

Later, as they walked in the garden, Thranduil encouraged Bard to tell him about the work that remained to be done on the house; they walked around the outside of the building, skirting the scaffolding and the Dwarves and men and women working hard and shouting to each other as they did so.

“They’re making good progress,” Bard said, “but there’s still lots to be done. The place stood empty for nearly two hundred years after the dragon, after all. There are no ceilings, half the walls are only half there, there are so many rooms left to do…” He trailed off with a sigh and a shrug, and Thranduil placed his hand in the small of his back. 

“And you have a veritable army of workers who will move the whole of Arda to make sure the house is finished for you,” he pointed out. 

“They’re not doing it for me,” Bard protested, “it’s not my house,” and Thranduil laughed softly.

“It should be,” he said, “but that is not what I meant. I meant that they are doing the work because you need it to be done, and they are doing it because they love you. You have more than proved yourself to the people of Lake-town, and clearly you have proved yourself to the Dwarves, for it is patently obvious that they love you as well. You need not worry about the building work: it is in the most capable of hands.”

As if on cue, Thranduil thought, a Dwarf came skidding round the corner, and after a moment Thranduil realised that he recognised him; it was one of Thorin’s company, the one with the sheepskin hat, and the memory of Tilda’s letter about the carousel and the oak tree came back to him. 

“Master Bofur,” he said, inclining his head, just as Bard greeted the Dwarf with the same name, and Thranduil smiled to himself, satisfied that he had got it right.

“Oh! Good morning, your Majesty,” said the Dwarf, sketching a hasty bow, “well, your Majesties.”

Bard groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you, Bofur? Use my name, _please_.”

Bofur grinned. “Well, I would, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful in front of the King, seeing as you’re both Kings now, and all. And I thought he probably wouldn’t know about the whole using-your-name thing. No offence, your Majesty.” He sketched another bow in Thranduil’s direction, and Thranduil found himself smiling.

“None taken, Master Dwarf,” he said. “I hope all goes well with the building work?”

“Very well, actually, thank you,” said Bofur. “I just wanted to check with Bard about something. We’ve moved on to the rest of the house, now that your wing is done.”

“And done most beautifully,” said Thranduil. “I thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Bofur. “And…if you don’t mind, I’d like to apologise, on my behalf at least, if not everyone else, because I don’t quite know how they all feel about it, but for me - I’d like to apologise for what happened when we blundered into your kingdom. We never meant to cause any harm. It all just sort of…happened.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows, surprised, but he could hear the sincerity in the Dwarf’s voice, read it on his open, honest face. “I accept your apology, Master Bofur, and in turn I wish to apologise for the treatment you received. It was a poor excuse for hospitality, and I think we might all wish now that it had gone otherwise.”

Bofur’s expression was a picture, Thranduil thought to himself, eyes wide and mouth hanging open; well, he could acknowledge that the Dwarf probably had not expected that his apology would be countered with another, especially not from Thranduil. But he had had enough time to think over what had happened, from the moment the Dwarves had stumbled into the Woodland Realm to the waking of the dragon and the battle that had changed things for everyone. If their three realms were to be allies, then concessions would have to be made on all sides.

“Th-thank you, my Lord,” Bofur stuttered after a moment, and Thranduil smiled serenely, conscious that Bard was also looking at him slightly incredulously. 

“You are most welcome. I believe a new era is on the verge of beginning between our three realms, and as the Lady Sigrid is often telling me, we will need to work together as allies. And as I understand it, that includes agreeing to forget past differences.”

Bofur nodded, and gulped, although it took him a moment to be able to speak. “I - the Lady Sigrid is very wise. And I don’t have much say - well, any say at all - in what King Dáin does, but I think you’re right, and so is she. It’ll be my honour, at least, to work alongside your people, as it’s been my honour to work alongside the people of Dale.”

“Speaking of which,” said Bard, “did you want me for something?”

“Oh,” said Bofur, “oh, yes, we just wanted to know if there was anywhere in particular you wanted us to start, any room in particular?”

“I probably need to look at it all, don’t I?” said Bard, and Thranduil laid a hand on his arm. 

“Have you not spent most of your time in that house over the last months, meleth-nín?” he asked, and Bard smiled sheepishly, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Well, yes - but only in the part of it that we were trying to get ready for you,” he said, and Thranduil shook his head.

“I think you already know the whole building like the back of your hand, do you not? And I am sure you can make a decision about the priorities for restoration without seeing it yet again.” He did not wish to take the decision out of Bard’s hands, but at the same time, it must be possible for Bard to see the priorities without having to look at the shell of the building. He just needed the space to think about it clearly rather than rushing in.

“Oh,” said Bard, scrubbing his hand through his hair again. “Well, I suppose the top priority will be for somewhere for everyone to sleep. We have a room we can use for negotiations, we have a kitchen. Sigrid wants a salon and a library, but - no, those can wait. Bedrooms and bathrooms, that’s where we need to start. So the top floor.”

“Message received,” said Bofur. “We’ll get going on making it safe first. And we’ve got three months, that’s loads of time. Right, I’ll go and tell the lads and lasses. Leave it to us!” And he was gone, back off round the corner of the house, leaving Bard and Thranduil looking at each other.

Thranduil had to chuckle; Bard looked a little thunderstruck. “Come now, meleth-nín. That was easy enough.”

“Well, yes,” said Bard, “but it can’t be as simple as that.”

“Of course it can. You simply needed a little encouragement to take a step back and look at the whole issue; you have been mired in the details for so long you cannot see beyond them.” Thranduil waved his hand a little dismissively. “I can see it more clearly because I am coming to it completely fresh.”

“And you’ve been a King for longer than I can even imagine,” said Bard ruefully. “I haven’t a clue what I’m doing, or how to do it.”

“You have been doing your best,” said Thranduil. “But it is already very clear to me that the first skill you need to learn is that of delegation.”

Bard snorted. “You’re a fine one to talk. You haven’t any advisers, you do everything yourself.”

Thranduil smiled serenely again. “But I am not attempting to establish a new city in a ruin, where everything needs doing. My realm is long-established and it runs smoothly and I must merely ensure it continues to do so; I only intervene when necessary. My chief duty is to maintain the enchantments that keep the woodland safe. And besides, I am also learning to delegate.” He slipped his arm around Bard’s waist. “Have I not left Feren in charge of my kingdom, so that I may spend this time with you?”

Bard laughed. “So you have. All right, so maybe we’ll learn this new skill together, since you’re a new-minted expert.”

Thranduil shook his head, and laughed too, softly. “As I understand it, the first step is to trust those around us to be able to do the jobs we have given them without being constantly supervised.”

“I haven’t really given anyone any jobs,” said Bard. “They’ve all just stepped up and taken them on.”

“Then you must trust them to get on with everything they have chosen to do,” said Thranduil. “And hear their reports, answer their questions when they have them, consider what needs to be done and direct your people accordingly.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Bard. “I suppose I’ve always been used to doing everything myself.”

“Of course you have,” said Thranduil. “But now you do not have to any more. You have a city full of very capable people who are willing to work for you and for their own futures, and all they need is direction.”

“I don’t want to be just sitting around all day issuing orders, though,” protested Bard. “I don’t want ever to be like the Master.”

“And you will not be. But you will have a little more time for yourself if you are not running yourself ragged from dawn until dusk trying to solve a thousand little problems that your people are quite capable of solving for themselves.”

“I suppose so,” said Bard, sounding as though he was thinking very hard about it. “I’ll try. It’s a hard habit to break, though, I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“I know,” smiled Thranduil. “But I will help you. And in the meantime, tomorrow is Tilda’s birthday and I think we should talk about how we will help her celebrate.”

“Oh,” said Bard. “So it is. I hadn’t forgotten, but there’s just been so much to do -“

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “And I think that what she would like most in the world is to spend a whole day with her Da. I have brought a couple of small gifts for her, but they will pale into insignificance next to the prospect of a day with you.”

Bard laughed. “You are the soul of deviousness and manipulation, love. But - I can’t think of anything I’d rather do for Tilda’s birthday than spend the whole day with her. Other than the time we spent with you in your home, I don’t know if I’ve ever -“ He broke off, and Thranduil drew him close. 

“You have had a hard, busy life, meleth-nín. You have had to work every hour you could; but now you are in a position where you do not have to do so any longer, unless you choose to. And if you choose, you can spend some of your time with your children - and with me.”

“I don’t quite know what to do with that thought,” said Bard. “It’s so strange to me.”

“I will help you become accustomed to it,” said Thranduil. “And first, I think, we should go to your children and see what they want to do today.”

“Bain will want to spar,” said Bard. “Tilda’s shown you most of her gardens now. Sigrid will certainly want to talk books, and talk about the negotiations with Dáin. Who has almost certainly heard about you and me by now.”

Thranduil laughed. “News travels fast, meleth-nín. And I am greatly looking forward to seeing what he makes of it.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not, so much,” said Bard. “He’s going to make a lot of fuss.”

Thranduil waved his hand dismissively. “Dáin Ironfoot likes to bluster. And you already know that he will respect you if you stand up to him, which you have already proved you are quite capable of doing. Besides, I am more than capable of such a thing. We will have a great deal of fun with him.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Bard, but there was a laugh in his voice, and he tucked his arm through Thranduil’s and they made their way to the gate in the garden wall, and off down the street towards the little house where the children were waiting for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> The fabulous [friendoftheJabberwock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendoftheJabberwock/pseuds/friendoftheJabberwock) has written [this wonderful Bard/Thranduil drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093910) for me, and I urge you all to go and read it and shower it with the love it deserves!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	80. The Whole Day Just Doing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Tilda's birthday! And what she wants most in the world is to spend the whole day with her Da and her Ada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably not necessary to tell you that this chapter comes with a Tilda Warning. :D :D :D

The following morning Thranduil woke Bard up a little earlier; they planned to arrive at the little house in time to see Tilda when she woke up on her birthday. The children had already been up and about when they had reached the house the previous day, spilling out of the door as they approached. Sigrid had given them a knowing look and Bain had hardly reacted, but Tilda had chirped at them that they were late, and Thranduil had apologised to her, hand on heart.

“I am sorry, pen-neth,” he had said, “it is my fault, for I neglected to wake your father, he was sleeping so soundly.”

“Well, he does work very hard,” Tilda had said, reaching her arms up for a hug first from Bard and then from Thranduil. “I’m not surprised.”

But this morning, Thranduil thought, Bard looked a little less exhausted; they had passed most of the day in inspections of the various works, Bard hearing reports and advising on progress and next steps but not doing any physical work, and Thranduil had been very satisfied. Bain and his friends had given them a most impressive demonstration of their new skills, under Tauriel’s instruction, and Sigrid had told them a few of the things she and Tauriel had been discussing with Balin, about this treaty they had decided upon. They had not seen Percy, but they had passed Hilda in the street and she had given them a knowing and very amused look as she bustled past them. Thranduil was still determined to speak to both of them before too long, but he reasoned that it could wait for now.

Another decent night’s sleep had clearly done Bard the world of good; the shadows under his eyes had receded, the lines at their corner and between his brows seemed less pronounced. And the realisation that he could delegate many of his tasks, that he could indeed trust his people to carry them out without him, seemed to have lifted a weight from his shoulders. He still had many lessons to learn about the art of kingship, but Thranduil thought that he had taken this one on board very well. 

They ate breakfast in the kitchen of the lord’s house, just the two of them since the young woman Agnes was apparently not actually Bard’s cook, and then they walked slowly down the hill in the morning sunshine, arm-in-arm, Bard greeting everyone they met as they went. A good few people glanced at their linked arms and smiled, but nobody commented; Thranduil suspected that his presence probably had an intimidating effect and had Bard been alone, he would have been inundated with questions and - if Hilda’s shout at the gates had been anything to go by - probably a great deal of banter and teasing.

When they came to the little house, all was quiet on the outside, although Thranduil could hear movement indoors. Bard carefully opened the front door and ushered Thranduil inside, although not without a warning about the height of the ceilings.

“You’ll have to mind your head, love,” he said, smiling ruefully, “I’ve hit mine on the doorframes a good few times, and you’re likely to be hitting yours on the ceiling. This place wasn’t built for tall people.”

Thranduil ducked his head and stepped inside, and found that he had to stoop, for he could not straighten up at all; the ceiling was so low that it only permitted him to stand with his head bowed.

“I shall sit down, I think, meleth-nín,” he said with a wry smile. “Perhaps you would like to go and see where Tilda has got to.”

“Good idea,” said Bard, a laugh in his voice, and he headed for the stairs as Thranduil looked around him. 

The ground floor of the house appeared to consist entirely of the room he was in - a combined sitting room, dining room and study with chairs and table and desk all crammed in together and a small settle and a couple of armchairs around the fire - and the kitchen he could just see through a doorway at the back of the room. The stairs went straight up opposite the front door, and Thranduil could hear voices and footsteps above his head.

After a moment, there was a movement in the kitchen, and Sigrid put her head through the doorway. 

“Ada! Good morning!” she said, brightly. “You’re here just in time for breakfast, if you haven’t already eaten. Is Da upstairs?”

“We did have a small breakfast before we set out,” said Thranduil, “but given the occasion I am sure we can manage some more. Your father has just gone up to see if Tilda is awake.”

“She wasn’t when I came down,” said Sigrid, “but I’m willing to bet she will be when she realises that Da is here and therefore, by extension, so are you.” She flashed him a grin and ducked back into the kitchen. 

“I would offer to help you with the breakfast,” Thranduil called after her, “but alas, I know very little about cooking, and I fear I cannot stand upright.”

Sigrid reappeared in the doorway, a laugh bubbling out of her mouth. “Don’t worry, Ada, I’ve got it all under control. And there’s a little surprise for Tilda, Tauriel’s gone out to fetch it. Although she probably shouldn’t have it until the afternoon, given that it’s a cake, but we thought it was best to get it now.”

“I am sure she will be delighted with it,” said Thranduil, “and it will be very difficult to tell her that she may not have cake for breakfast.”

Sigrid grinned. “I suspect we’ll all be having cake for breakfast,” she said. “Apart from anything else, it’s the first birthday we’ve had since everything changed, we’re all crammed into the summer and early autumn. Bain and Da are next month, both of them, and I’m in September. Mam was the only one who wasn’t born in the summer - her birthday was early March.”

“I had intended to ask when the rest of your birthdays were,” said Thranduil. “Thank you, melinettë-nín.”

“No problem, Ada,” Sigrid smiled. “I thought you’d probably want to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to finish making breakfast. The others should be down in a minute.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “I will see you in a moment.” 

Sigrid went back into the kitchen, and Thranduil looked around a little more. The house certainly was not made for someone of his stature; the chairs were all too small, and he took a seat very carefully in one of the armchairs by the fireside, his legs stretched out in front of him as it was more comfortable and certainly more dignified than sitting up and having his knees bent more or less up by his ears.

Barely a moment or two had passed before he heard a squeal of “Da!” from upstairs and Bard’s deep voice wishing Tilda a happy birthday; and then there was a scuffling noise and the sound of running feet, and all of a sudden Tilda was pelting down the stairs and across the room to fling herself into Thranduil’s lap. 

“Ada!” she cried, as he wrapped her up in his arms. “It’s my birthday, and you’re here!”

“Yes, it is, pen-neth, and I am. I wish you a very happy birthday.”

“Thank you!” Tilda squealed, wriggling happily and throwing her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy you’re here. And you remembered! I said a week before Midsummer and you remembered!”

“Of course I remembered, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, as Bard came down the stairs, closely followed by Bain. “You are very dear to me and I made sure that I would be here in time to celebrate this very special day with you.”

“I’m so glad you did!” said Tilda, and Bard chuckled as Bain disappeared into the kitchen.

“You’re getting a warmer welcome than I did,” he said, “but then I suppose I’m just boring old Da that she sees every single day.”

“You’re not boring, Da!” said Tilda, turning to look at him as he crossed the room to sit in the other armchair. “Only we haven’t seen Ada for ages and ages and he made sure to get here for my birthday and it’s _so exciting_!”

“And what do you want to do today, pen-neth?” Thranduil asked her, and she beamed up at him.

“I want to look at my gardens and pick some flowers and walk on the city walls and look at the mountain and sit in the big garden and look at the sunshine and most of all, _most of all_ , I want to do it all with you and Da. And Bain and Sigrid and Tauriel,” she added, “but I see them lots every day. I don’t see you lots, Ada, and most days I only see Da at breakfast and dinner because he’s so busy.”

Thranduil glanced at Bard, who was looking more than a little stricken and also resigned. “Well, pen-neth, I think that is a wish that is within our power to grant. And perhaps we might be able to persuade your Da that sometimes he can let people get on with things so that he can spend more time with you.”

“Can we?” Tilda clapped her hands in delight and scrambled down from Thranduil’s lap to scuttle across and launch herself at her father. Bard scooped her up into his lap and settled her with his arms around her, holding her close. 

“Your Ada has been pointing out quite a few places where I don’t really need to be up to my neck in it all the time, kitten,” he said, “and I’m beginning to see that he’s right. Everyone knows what they’re doing. They’ll only need me when they need someone to make decisions.”

Tilda clapped her hands again. “Really? So we can spend the whole day just doing things?”

Bard smiled, and kissed her temple. “We can spend the whole day just doing things, kitten. And maybe other days too.”

“Oh Da,” said Tilda, “I can’t wait!”

At that moment the door to the street opened and Tauriel stepped inside, carefully carrying a large plate upon which sat a magnificent-looking cake. 

“I come bearing gifts,” she said, “or _a_ gift, at least. Happy birthday, pen-neth, and Margery and Svein and everyone else sends their best wishes to you too.”

“Cake!” Tilda squealed, and she jumped off Bard’s lap and rushed at Tauriel, who held the cake up out of the way just before Tilda wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Careful, pen-neth!” she chided, a laugh in her voice. “Let me put this safely down on the table.”

Tilda relented, following Tauriel across the room and wrapping her arms around her waist as soon as she had put the cake down. Tauriel scooped her up into a hug, and Sigrid put her head out of the kitchen again.

“Breakfast’s ready, “ she said. “Oh good, you’re back. I suppose there’s no point in saying we can’t have cake for breakfast, is there, but we’ve got scrambled eggs and toast and fruit nectar to have first.”

“Let me help you bring it out,” said Tauriel, setting Tilda in a chair at the head of the table and following Sigrid back into the kitchen. They soon re-emerged, with Bain, and breakfast.

“Come and sit at the table,” said Sigrid. “Ada, I’m sorry, it’s not really built for you.”

Thranduil laughed. “I think the people who had this house before were not particularly tall, melinettë-nín, and that cannot be helped.” He got to his feet, keeping his head carefully bowed, and made his way to the table, taking a chair next to Tilda. Thankfully the table and chair were closer to a comfortable size than the ceiling, or the armchair, and he did not have to fold himself up too much to sit down. Bard followed him and sat opposite, at Tilda’s other hand, ruffling her hair affectionately as he passed her chair.

“Cake first?” asked Tilda hopefully, and Bard chuckled.

“Eggs and toast first, kitten. Then cake, if you’ve got room for it.”

“I’ll have room for some,” said Bain. “If you haven’t, Til, I can always help you and have your slice.”

“I’ll have room!” protested Tilda, sounding absolutely outraged, and Thranduil chuckled. 

“Do not worry, pen-neth,” he said. “I am sure you will be able to have some cake. After you have eaten your eggs and toast.” He passed her the plate of toast, and then the bowl of eggs, letting her serve herself a small helping, and then sent the plate and the bowl round the table.

Everyone set to eating, and Thranduil looked around at each dear face, wondering for a moment how he had come to be here, how he had suddenly become so very lucky. Only one was missing, and perhaps Bard and Tauriel were right, perhaps there was still hope that one day he might return.

But for now, it was Tilda’s birthday, and he was determined to help the little girl enjoy her day as much as possible. She had certainly charmed her way into his heart, and he would ever be grateful to the Valar for her, and for her whole family, who were his family now too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> meleth-nín: my love  
> ada: father (informal)  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by the number six! We're nearly at 6000 hits, we've just passed 600 comments, we've got 160 kudos and this is chapter 80 (which makes two per chapter, a nice round number that makes me very happy), AND I noticed yesterday (2 February 2021, for my own reference later) that with everything I posted in January, I've blasted past 600k words posted to AO3 without noticing and am already well on the way to 650k! Good grief. Party streamers all round! :D :D :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	81. A Bond That's Plain To See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda's birthday continues with some sight-seeing, some gardening, and a little bit of a sparring demonstration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tilda Warning here!

Bard stood on the walkway that ran along the top of the city wall, now patched together with makeshift wooden bridges crossing the many gaps, and watched as Thranduil lifted Tilda up so that she could sit upon the wall and gaze out over the plain, away to the south and the lake, the south-west and the Woodland Realm, across to the Lonely Mountain and the hills to the west and the north-west and the north. Thranduil kept a tight, safe hold on Tilda’s waist, and the two of them were discussing at great length what she could see, and what he could, with his superior Elven eyesight. Thranduil was telling her tales of times long past, people long gone who had lived hereabouts, and Bard was listening with half an ear; most of his attention was taken up not with what they were saying, but with the sight they made, the tall, graceful Elvenking and the scruffy little human girl with her curly hair escaping her plait and the patches on her clothes. Two people more different it would be difficult to find, thought Bard, and yet the bond between the two of them was plain to see for anyone who took even a moment to look at them. 

“I think it’s a good thing you did what you did when Ada arrived, Da,” said Sigrid quietly, and Bard jumped; he had not heard her approach. 

“That’s a relief, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve been in two minds about it ever since. I’m not sorry that people know what he is to me, but -" he paused, “I am worried about what certain other people might have to say about it.”

Sigrid snorted softly. “Dáin will be fine, Da,” she said, “you know what he’s like. He’ll make a lot of noise about nancing fairies and undue influence, and all you have to do about that is to look him in the eye and tell him that your personal life is none of his business, and Dale remains completely independent of both the Woodland Realm and the Lonely Mountain. And then Tauriel and Balin and I slap the treaty on the table, which sets out exactly how things are going to be between us all.” 

Bard chuckled. “You know, I think I’m almost more worried about what your Ada is going to say before I can get a word in edgeways.”

Sigrid let out a bubbling, giggling laugh. “Actually, maybe you should let them argue it out for a bit, because you know they’re both going to be really funny,” she said. “And then when one or other of them pauses for breath, _then_ you tell Dáin it’s none of his business and nobody’s having any undue influence over anyone.” She paused, and flashed him a grin. “Although if anyone’s got any influence, it’s you over Ada. I’m half convinced he wouldn’t have agreed to these talks, or this alliance, if it weren’t for you.”

“And you, sweetheart,” protested Bard, “and Tauriel. You’re the ones who have been doing all the persuasion.”

Sigrid shrugged. “But if Ada wasn’t in love with you, we could have talked till we were blue in the face and he’d never have agreed. The old Ada would have scooped his soldiers up after the battle and gone straight back home to the Woodland Realm, and we’d never have seen him again.” 

Bard couldn’t help the way his heart constricted at the thought; never to have had the chance at what they had now, to have had to pick up the pieces and rebuild Dale alone but for his children and his people. He could not quite bear to think about it. 

“All in all,” said Sigrid, “it’s a good thing the two of you went out the back of the great hall to have that talk, and then everything that’s followed on from that has been just wonderful.” She smiled and slipped an arm around his waist for a moment. “And I think everyone here thinks it’s wonderful, too. You didn’t see everyone’s faces, when Ada arrived and you kissed him. They were all surprised, of course they were, but then absolutely everyone was just smiling and grinning like it was their dearest friend’s wedding they were watching.”

“I did get the impression that Hilda approves,” said Bard wryly, drawing Sigrid into a hug. 

“Of course she does,” said Sigrid. “And she’s going to give you a hard time about it every time she sees you, you know how she is. But she’s delighted for you, and so is everyone else, because you _are_ everyone’s dearest friend. Nobody’s forgotten how you always stood up for us all in Lake-town, against the Master, and they definitely haven’t forgotten how you killed the dragon and led us here, and fought so fiercely for us in the battle, and all of the rest of it. They’re glad you’re happy, Da.”

“I hope so,” said Bard. “I don’t want them to think that I’m somehow going to act against Dale’s best interests because of how I feel about your Ada.”

“They don’t, Da,” said Sigrid firmly. “And once we’ve got this treaty hammered out and signed, everyone will know for certain. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I hope so, sweetheart,” said Bard, resting his cheek on Sigrid’s hair for a moment. She was so tall now, up to his shoulder, and more or less a woman grown. She was already gaining practice as a politician, and soon enough she’d be ready to be Queen, if the people wanted her. He couldn’t think of anyone they could want more, though, or anyone more suited to the job.

“Da, Da!” came Tilda’s excited voice, and Bard and Sigrid both looked up to see her jumping down off the wall, with Thranduil’s hand protectively at her back. “Can we go and look at my gardens now?”

“Of course we can, kitten,” said Bard, laughing and scooping her up as she ran to him. “It’s your birthday, we can do whatever you want. Within reason,” he added, and Tilda giggled. 

“I won’t ask for anything silly,” she said. “Really I just want to do things with you, and with Ada.”

“We’re going to spend the whole day with you,” said Bard. “Anyone with any problems can wait until tomorrow. Now, I’m going to put you down because you’re getting heavy. And if you’re eleven, I’m sure you can walk on your own.”

Tilda pouted, but let him set her on her feet, though she grabbed for his hand as soon as her toes touched the stone of the walkway, tugging him in the direction of the stairs. 

They spent a happy couple of hours touring Tilda’s gardens, picking flowers and vegetables, weeding a little, and then they bought hot meat pastries for lunch from Anders the butcher, who had set up a stall outside his new shop for the builders and workers almost as soon as he had got the shop up and running. They wandered through the streets, greeting this person and that, and Bard was struck by how cheerful everyone seemed, how pleased they seemed to see him, and how eager they were to wish Tilda a happy birthday. He almost felt unsettled by it; he wasn’t used to being part of a society in which nobody had a problem with the powers that be. On the other hand, he thought, the society he was used to had had the Master for its powers that be, and everybody had a problem with him because of how he was with them. And now, he supposed, the powers that be were - himself, and Sigrid, and they were doing their best to be better at it than the Master had been. 

In the afternoon they watched Bain and his friends practising their swordcraft with Tauriel and the members of the Woodland Guard who had escorted their King to Dale, and Thranduil allowed himself to be persuaded to demonstrate the use of twin blades by sparring with Tauriel, who also used two knives. All the children watched with wide eyes and open mouths, and when the two combatants came to a stop there was a long silence before it was broken by Bain whooping and clapping and the applause was taken up by the rest of them. 

“We have _got_ to learn how to do that!” said Bain emphatically once the applause died down. “I can almost do the simplest moves with two knives now, but I can’t do it fast like you do, and I can’t do the complicated things like where you change the knife’s position in your hand mid-flow. I can’t even see how you do it, it’s amazing.”

“It takes a great deal of practice,” said Thranduil, bowing gravely to Tauriel and handing back to her the blades he had used. “I hope you are all willing to put in the time.”

There was a chorus of assent from Bain and his friends, and Thranduil nodded, pleased. Tilda wriggled next to Bard, and he glanced down at her. 

“Do you want to do something else, kitten?” he asked her, and she blinked innocently up at him. 

“Can we have some more cake?” she asked. “In the big garden? Like a picnic!”

“Of course we can,” said Bard, smiling affectionately and ruffling her hair. “Do you think your Ada and Tauriel would like to come, or Bain?”

“I think so,” said Tilda. “Bain, do you want cake?” 

Bain pulled a considering face. “I think I want to stay here and practise some more,” he said. “If that’s all right with you, Til? Save me a piece for later?”

“All right,” said Tilda, favouring her brother with a sunny smile. “But you’d better not be too late or we might have eaten it all!”

Bain rolled his eyes, but Bard chuckled to himself, thinking that Tilda might just have guaranteed that her brother would be home at a sensible time. 

“Ada, Tauriel, do you want to come and have cake in the big garden?” Tilda piped next as Thranduil and Tauriel drew near to them. 

“I will certainly have cake in the big garden with you, pen-neth,” said Thranduil, and Tauriel glanced at Bain. 

“I think I will stay with Bain and his friends for now,” she said, “to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. But if you can save me a slice, I will have it later.”

“Tell you what,” said Bard, “let’s go back to the house and cut ourselves each a slice, and pick up one or two other things to eat, and then we can leave enough for Tauriel and Bain to have some when they come home. Then we can go up to the big garden and have that picnic.”

“All right,” said Tilda, beaming up at him. “Are you coming, Sigrid?”

Sigrid grinned, reaching out to ruffle her little sister’s hair. “Of course I am. I’m not going to say no to cake, am I? Especially not cake in the big garden with you on your birthday.”

“Good,” said Tilda, very definitely. “Come on, then.” She hopped to her feet and grabbed Bard’s hand, tugging until he stood up, somewhat stiffly; he was getting far too old for this sitting on the floor business, he thought to himself. 

Tilda grabbed Thranduil’s other hand, and led the two of them out of the arena, with Sigrid following behind; Bard glanced back to see that she was looking thoroughly amused. Well, Tilda _was_ funny, he supposed, but today she was entitled to be as funny as she liked, and none of them would even begin to dream of saying anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	82. The Most Delightful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tilda receives some birthday presents, and finishes her day very happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a Tilda Warning again. :D

Off they went through the streets, the four of them, Bard and Tilda ducking into the little house to pick up the cake and some early strawberries from the pots in the tiny courtyard at the back of the house and a flagon of fruit nectar, and then on, up to the big house and the garden. Sigrid dashed into the house to get a tablecloth from the kitchen, and then they began to settle on the ground near Tilda’s vegetable garden, between some of the trees from the Woodland Realm which she had planted in the spring. There was a makeshift lawn there, still rather scrubby and more weeds than grass, but it would do for now, and Tilda seemed overwhelmingly happy with it, thought Bard. 

And then he remembered that there was something in the house for her, thankfully before he sat down and had to get back up again. “I’ll be back in a moment, kitten,” he said, and Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you going into the house, meleth-nín?” he asked, and Bard nodded.

“Just remembered there’s something in there I need to fetch,” he said. 

“Would you mind, then, going upstairs and bringing something down for me? There is a small leather bag in my saddlebags, you will know it when you see it.”

“Oh, and Da,” said Sigrid, “there’s something in the kitchen as well, I left it there yesterday. It’s wrapped in linen, you can’t miss it.”

Bard chuckled. “All right, and while I’m in there, is there anything else anyone wants?”

“No,” said Tilda, “but hurry up, Da, I want to eat the cake!”

“All right, kitten, I won’t be a minute,” said Bard, grinning and leaning down to ruffle her hair; she did not seem to have picked up what he was doing. He went into the house, found Sigrid’s parcel in the kitchen and his own which was hidden at the back of a cupboard, also in the kitchen, and then went upstairs to rummage in Thranduil’s saddlebags. He found the small leather bag without too much trouble, and brought everything back down, taking it outside and settling down by the tablecloth in the space Sigrid had left him between herself and Thranduil. He set the three parcels in front of him, and waited for Tilda to notice them. 

It didn’t take her long. “Oh, Da, what’s that?” she chirped in between mouthfuls of cake, and Bard shrugged. 

“Oh, just a couple of things. Although we might wait until Bain and Tauriel join us to find out what they are.”

Tilda pouted. “Really? But what if it’s something really exciting?”

“Then you would just have to wait, pen-neth,” put in Thranduil, and Bard smiled affectionately.

Birthday presents had been very modest in Lake-town, and these were modest enough, except for a small contribution from the Master’s treasury and whatever Thranduil had brought. These parcels were certainly bigger than the little wooden doll or new dress that would have been all they could have managed, in their previous life; but he thought Tilda had worked out that the parcels were for her.

“Or you could open one now and wait till later for the others,” he suggested.

“Or you could open them all now and see if there are any others waiting for you at home later,” said Sigrid, catching Bard’s eye and giving him a look that he thought meant that there would be two more parcels to come, one from Tauriel and one from Bain. 

Tilda clapped her hands and reached for the nearest parcel, pausing at the last moment until Bard nodded. It was the linen-wrapped bundle from Sigrid, and Tilda made short work of the wrapping, revealing a small leather-bound notebook, the binding stitched with twine and a simple design tooled into the cover, twining vines and Tilda’s name in flowing, Elven-styled letters although the word was written in the common tongue. Tilda squealed and launched herself at her sister, hugging her tight and thanking her excitedly.

“I thought you could write your garden plans in there,” said Sigrid, “or write about how your plants are getting on.”

“Oh, I will!” said Tilda, sitting back down and reaching for Bard’s parcel, wrapped in waxed paper he’d begged from Anders, and tied not particularly tidily with string, also from Anders. She got the knots undone and unscrunched the paper, revealing a small pewter vase with a braided leather bracelet wrapped around it; he'd made the bracelet from thin strips of coloured leather that Johan the tanner had had left over after he'd got himself set up and tanned his first set of hides in his new workshop. 

“Oh, Da!” said Tilda, “it’s lovely! I can put my flowers in it! And the bracelet, will you put it on me?” She held it out to him, wrist outstretched, and he took it, carefully tying the ends together. 

“I cheated a little bit with the vase, kitten,” he said, “it was in the stuff we hauled out of the lake. But I thought you might like it.”

“It’s so pretty!” Tilda said, turning over in her hands, tracing her fingers over the curves and beading, the delicate engraving of a five-petalled flower. It was a simple little thing, and had probably been scooped up into the Master’s treasure hoard by mistake at some point, but it was pretty, nicer to look at by far than most of the actual treasure, Bard thought, and when it had turned up in the sorting of the haul, he had set it aside, thinking of Tilda.

“Are you going to open your Ada’s present?” Bard prompted after a few moments, and Tilda gasped, setting the vase carefully on the tablecloth next to the notebook. 

“Oh, yes!” she said, taking up the leather bag and tugging gently at the drawstring. She reached inside and drew out a small paper packet, and a silver chain with something hanging from it; leaning over, Bard saw that it was a necklace made of silver, with a green-enamelled leaf. Tilda drew in a gasp, and looked at Thranduil, eyes wide and temporarily speechless. 

“I hope you like it, pen-neth,” said Thranduil quietly. “My wife made it, long ago, to represent the leaves of our home. Tauriel has one, and I thought you might like to have one, too.”

“Ohhh,” said Tilda, very softly, and Bard glanced at Thranduil, his heart almost stopping at the expression on his beloved’s face, sadness and affection blended together. 

“Would you like me to put it on you?” asked Thranduil, and if Bard hadn’t known better he’d have said he sounded almost tentative.

“Yes please,” said Tilda, sounding a little awestruck, and Bard wasn’t surprised; the little necklace was likely worth more than their entire house had been, back in Lake-town, and Tilda had certainly never seen anything like it before, except the circlets Thranduil had given them.

Thranduil took the necklace from her hands and fastened it carefully around her neck, and then tapped a finger against the paper packet in her hand. “In here there are seeds from one of our most beloved beech trees,” he said. “Plant them here and they will grow, and give you shade in years to come.”

Tilda’s eyes widened again. “The one at the edge of the forest, at the end of the garden?” she asked, and Thranduil nodded.

“That very one. I am hopeful that the protection laid on the Greenwood will grow with the trees you will grow from these seeds, and provide some protection for Dale.”

“Oh, Ada,” said Tilda, launching herself at him for a hug, and Bard could not help but lean in and wrap the two of them in his arms, impossibly touched by Thranduil’s gesture. 

“Thank you, love,” he whispered in Thranduil’s ear, and he felt Thranduil’s smile more than saw it.

“It is the least I could do for you all, meleth-nín,” he murmured. “It is in my interest that Dale prospers, safe and sound. I hope that the enchantment will hold, so far from the Woodland Realm.”

“Well, if you’re here, it should have no problem,” said Bard as he eased away, smiling, and Thranduil chuckled.

“Another reason in the column for why I should stay in Dale,” he said. “The column for why I should return home in the autumn is looking rather empty.”

“All as it should be,” said Bard. “Now come on, let’s finish that cake.”

Tauriel and Bain joined them before too long, each of them bearing a small parcel, and Bain carrying what was left of the cake. Tilda squealed with excitement to see them, showing off her presents, and then happily unwrapped the other parcels, a knife for pruning her plants from Tauriel, though it was beautifully wrought and looked more like a ceremonial weapon, and a small trowel and fork from Bain; Bard thought that he had spotted the lad emerging from Hanna the blacksmith’s workshop once or twice over the last weeks, though he hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

Tilda declared herself delighted with all her presents, and with the cake, and they sat talking for a long time, until the sun began to dip below the horizon and Tilda began yawning. Thranduil scooped her up and carried her down the hill, trailed by all the family, and Bard put her into bed while Thranduil waited outside, apparently not relishing having to stand bent double inside the house again.

“Sleep well, kitten,” Bard said, smoothing Tilda’s hair out of her face and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“I will, Da,” she said around another yawn. “I had a lovely day.”

“I’m glad, kitten,” said Bard. “So did I. Let’s try to do this a bit more often.”

“I’d like that,” said Tilda. “If you weren’t so busy. You’ve always been busy.”

“I know,” said Bard. “Your Ada is teaching me how to let people get on with things rather than trying to do them all myself, so hopefully I’ll have a bit more time to spend with you.”

“Good,” said Tilda, yawning widely and only partly managing to stifle it behind her hand. 

“Now go to sleep, all right, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bard kissed her forehead again, and Tilda’s eyelids fluttered closed, her breathing deepening. She was still wearing the necklace and the leather bracelet, and Bard smiled to see them together. He waited for a moment, until he was sure she was asleep, and then he left the room, turning back at the doorway to watch her for a moment.

Sigrid, Bain and Tauriel were hanging around outside the front door with Thranduil, and they all smiled at him as he emerged. 

“She’s fast asleep,” he said, and Sigrid smiled. 

“Go on with you,” she said. “We’ll keep an eye out for her. See you in the morning.”

Bard exchanged a glance with Thranduil, and then looked back at Sigrid. “If you say so, sweetheart,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“I do say so. Go on.”

Bard laughed, and caught Thranduil’s hand. “That’s us told,” he said, and the two of them began to make their way up the street, towards the big house.

“You know, we would not have to perform this ridiculous charade every night if you would only move your family into the lord’s house where they belong,” said Thranduil as they walked.

Bard sighed. “You’re right, I know you are. I just…I can’t quite bear the thought of us getting special treatment.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “You are the King, meleth-nín, and your people gave you that title, your people put you there. They will want you to act as their King, and that will include living in the big house. They will have appreciated that you did not take it for yourself as soon as the battle was over, that you have lived as one of them here as you did in Lake-town. But now that Dale is establishing itself, they will want you to take up the accoutrements of your role.”

“I’ll talk to Percy and Hilda,” Bard said; he could see the logic of Thranduil’s argument, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with it. “See what they say.”

“They will agree with me, I am sure,” said Thranduil. “But that is a conversation for another day. In the meantime, I think I want to walk in the gardens with you a little, and then go to bed. We have had a most delightful day, and I wish to end it just as delightfully.”

And Bard found that he could not argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Thranduil's wife Auriel was a jewel-smith, long ago when they lived in Doriath at the court of Elu Thingol. She didn't do it so much after they escaped, but every now and then she would make something, and remember. (with credit to my fabulous beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious) and her [drabble about Auriel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890615/chapters/65724106#workskin) which gave me her backstory!)
> 
> (and this chapter, posted 10 February 2021, takes me over 650k words posted to AO3 since I joined in 2012, all but about 160k of which have been written and posted since June 2020. aaaaaaa! :D :D :D )
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	83. You'll Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has an interesting conversation with Hilda on Midsummer morning, before Dáin arrives for the talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Dáin and the talks at last! Or at least, it will be in the next chapter. :D In the meantime, please accept Hilda giving Thranduil the shovel talk, a tiny little bit. :D :D :D

The days flew by after Tilda’s birthday, Thranduil thought. An invitation was sent to Erebor, suggesting that the King under the Mountain might like to visit Dale for a Midsummer celebration and a round of talks, and early on the morning of Midsummer’s Day, Thranduil found himself doing the rounds with Bard, making sure everything was in place. Sigrid and Tauriel had already prepared the dining room in the big house to act as a negotiating chamber, and everyone was bustling here and there in the main square getting everything ready for the feasting and entertainment that would be laid on for all those not attending the talks. Bofur and his comrades had been building stalls for traders to sell their wares, taking a couple of days off from working on the big house, and Bard wandered over to take a look at what they had been doing, leaving Thranduil on the steps surveying the scene. 

Hilda was directing operations with regard to the food and drink; she and Agnes seemed to have their little army of servers and cooks well-drilled, Thranduil thought with amusement as he watched a gaggle of girls scuttling across the square carrying armfuls of plates and mugs. They were not quite as co-ordinated as his own soldiers, but they certainly each knew their duties and were prepared to carry them out to the best of their abilities.

“They’re a good lot,” came a voice from next to him, and he glanced around to see that Hilda had come to stand beside him on the steps, surveying the goings-on. “None of 'em would have had the opportunity to amount to much in Lake-town, but here they can spread their wings, bless 'em.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow slightly, but only out of habit. He had not yet had a chance to speak to Hilda, or to Percy, but now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

“As I understand it, the ill-fortune which struck Lake-town has turned out to be something of a blessing in disguise, in some ways,” he said, and Hilda chuckled.

“You could say that,” she said. “Your Majesty, I mean,” she added, and she bobbed a quick curtsey, evidently having remembered who she was speaking to. “Sorry. I’m not used to there being a King around I actually have to be polite to. I’ve known Bard since he was a babe in arms, I don’t think he’d take it from me.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” said Thranduil, rather amused. “You have been a friend to Bard when he has needed you, and I hope you may be a friend to me, too.”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “Well, if you say so,” she said. “I mean, I suppose I’m friends with young Tauriel, and I got on all right with some of your other people when they were here last year. Didn’t expect to be on first-name terms with you though, begging your pardon.”

Thranduil chuckled softly at Hilda’s mention of ‘young Tauriel’; he thought that Hilda was probably well aware by now that Tauriel was by no means as young as she looked to human eyes. “I am sure you did not,” he said, “and if you do not feel comfortable using my name, then I do not mind if you do not. But I think that we have something in common, in that we are both concerned for Bard and for his family, and so that gives us the basis for friendship, at least.”

“I suppose so,” said Hilda, and then she grinned. “Concerned for him, indeed. I’d say that’s the least of what you are, going by what happened the day you arrived, and the way the two of you have been looking at each other since.” Thranduil looked at her blandly, and she chortled. “Your face! I had my suspicions before, of course, but of course he only bloody went and confirmed them all when you turned up, which was the last thing I was expecting.”

“I must confess I had not expected it either,” said Thranduil, feeling a smile trying to escape the confines of his carefully set expression. “But on the other hand, it is a relief not to have to keep it a secret any more.”

“You thought we’d all have a problem with it,” said Hilda, and Thranduil inclined his head very slightly. 

“I did not wish to jeopardise Bard’s position as your leader, or open him up to accusations of undue influence,” he said. “But now I understand that the people of Dale know him well, probably better than I do, and that you all love him. You understand that he will not let anyone influence him against your interests, and you are glad that he is happy.”

Hilda favoured him with a broad smile. “Got it in one. We’ve all known him since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, or with the young ones he’s known them since they were a similar size. We already know he’s an honourable man, the best of all of us, more or less, and we know it’ll take more than a pretty Elf to turn his head, even if that pretty Elf happens to be a King.”

Thranduil bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Well, then I am glad,” he said gravely after a moment, although he could feel the smile still trying to break free. “And honoured.”

“So you should be,” said Hilda. “He’s special, that one. And I’m sure you’re aware that if you hurt him you’ll have the whole of Dale to answer to, most especially me.”

“Let me reassure you that I have no intention of hurting him,” said Thranduil. “He has brought light to my life, light and warmth I sorely needed, and I intend to cherish him for the rest of his days.”

Hilda regarded him for a moment, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. “You’ll do,” she said. “You love him as much as we do, I can tell.” Another long pause, and then - “Well, I think you love him more, but that’s only right and proper. You know, he had half of Lake-town mooning after him, back before the dragon came, and more than half of Dale mooning after him after that, but he never looked twice at any of 'em. Loved his Maudie too much to settle for anyone else, but I’m glad he’s found himself someone to keep him warm again. There’s a good few hearts likely broke wide open when he did what he did when you turned back up, but I think they’ll get over it.” She chuckled. “He’s got eyes for you and you only, and I can’t say I blame him.”

Thranduil inclined his head, hand on heart, and let the smile out, just a little bit. “I am honoured, Lady Hilda,” he said, and Hilda snorted and flapped her hand. 

“Get on with you,” she said, but she was blushing, and Thranduil allowed his smile to become a little wider; clearly she was not above being charmed, tough as she was.

“I suppose you knew Maudie,” he said after a moment, and Hilda nodded. 

“Life and soul of the town she was, that girl. An absolute holy terror, mind, but a heart of gold, and once she’d made her mind up about something there was no moving her. There’s a lot of her in all the kids, but Sigrid has her persistence, and Tilda - well, Tilda’s the image of her, for all she never knew her.”

“I am sorry not to have known her,” said Thranduil, and he meant it. Even if it would have meant that he and Bard could not have become what they were to each other, if she had lived, he could do nothing but regret the cruel fate that had torn Maudie away from her husband and family so long before her time.

Hilda nodded. “She was a good girl. We all miss her. And believe you me, if she’d still been here you’d have both of them to fill your bed. I said she was a holy terror, didn’t I?” She chortled happily, and Thranduil supposed he must be looking somewhat thunderstruck.

“I do not quite know what to say to that,” he said, truthfully, and Hilda grinned. 

“She was never backward in coming forward, our Maudie. And she made sure Bard looked after himself. Sigrid’s been trying her best, ever since, but that man lives for his family and his people and if he gets a chance to overwork himself, he’ll take it.”

“I was intending to speak to you about that,” said Thranduil. “It is clear to me that left to his own devices Bard will work himself into the ground. I have been attempting to teach him to delegate tasks to others, but I am not having a great deal of success.”

Hilda snorted. “Sounds about right. He always was one for taking the whole world onto his shoulders. Doesn’t listen to a single one of us but I have a feeling he’ll listen to you.”

“Every time I think I am getting through to him, he allows himself to be distracted by something which really does not need him to be concerned about it,” said Thranduil. “It is most frustrating.”

“Course he does,” said Hilda. “It’s what he’s done all his life. He’s interested in all of it, and he wants to help, he feels bad about having people to do stuff for him. He doesn’t want to be King, which of course makes him the best man for the job.” Hilda sniffed. “I never trust anyone with political ambitions. You won’t have known the Master and Alfrid, but that’s what they had, and it was the worse for the rest of us.”

“So I understand,” said Thranduil. “But Sigrid has what you call political ambitions, does she not? I think she will make a very good Queen of Dale, when the time comes.”

“That’s not political ambitions,” said Hilda. “What that girl’s got is the same as what her dad’s got: a terminal case of wanting to do the right thing by her people. Only she understands how to use her position to make things happen in the best way, and she wants to do it, whereas her dad just wants to be in there getting his hands dirty and not having to talk to foreign dignitaries all the time. No offence.”

“None taken,” said Thranduil. “I see what you mean. As I understand it the Master and Alfrid were only interested in what they could gain for themselves.”

Hilda turned her head aside, hawking and spitting on the ground. “Beg your pardon,” she said, “but that’s the only appropriate response to those two. Only interested in themselves and bugger the rest of us. I’m not at all sorry they came to the ends they did, and I’m glad Bard and the others got the treasure out of the lake so it can be put to better use.”

“I understand that they made many people’s lives very difficult,” said Thranduil diplomatically, “including Bard’s, and yours.”

Hilda pulled a face. “Old goat reckoned he had me over a barrel about what happened to my Jimmy, but I always said, he couldn’t never prove anything. Far as I’m concerned, Jimmy went out fishing on the lake, drank too much giniver, fell in, drowned and the fish ate him. He was a vicious bastard and I don’t miss him for a minute, but there’s nobody who can prove any other wise what happened to him.” She met Thranduil’s gaze almost defiantly, and he nodded, smiling faintly again. 

“I am sure that most of the story is true,” he said, “even if some of the details might have been changed a little by time. And a man who raises his hand to his wife is not to be mourned.”

Hilda nodded sharply. “Exactly,” she said. “They found his boat floating empty among the ruins out on the edge of town three weeks later, and not a sign of Jimmy. Good riddance, I said, and most people agreed with me. The Master thought that meant I’d had something to do with it, and he tried blackmailing me with it, but it didn’t stick. I did a bit of spying for him to keep him off my back, but that was the limit of it.”

Thranduil nodded; he appreciated Hilda’s openness about what had happened in Lake-town. There was no danger that she would turn against Bard here, he thought.

“Anyway,” said Hilda after a moment or two. “Talking of foreign dignitaries, you’re beginning negotiations today, aren’t you? I suppose we’ll be having Dáin Ironfoot and his entourage turning up any minute now.”

“I believe we shall,” said Thranduil. “I am very much looking forward to it. It has been a long time since I have sparred with such a worthy opponent across the negotiating table.”

Hilda grinned. “And you’re expecting him to have something to say about you and Bard, I suppose. News travels fast and I’m sure he’s heard about it by now. Probably been sitting in that mountain stewing over it ever since.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “I believe you are right. And yes, I expect he will have a great deal to say about the nature of the relationship between myself and Bard. But the treaty between our three realms has already been drawn up, and all that remains is to persuade him to sign it, so once we have set his mind at rest about such unpleasant issues as undue influence and the possibility of bias, I am sure everything will proceed smoothly.”

“I’m sure it will,” said Hilda, just as Bard approached them, coming up the steps from the square. 

“What’s that proceeding smoothly?” he asked. “Are you talking about our ally under the mountain, by any chance?”

“The very same,” said Thranduil. “I was explaining to Hilda that I am very much looking forward to hearing what Dáin has to say about us.”

Bard chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. “He’s probably come up with at least a dozen new names for you, each more insulting than the last. He’ll probably have a few for me, as well.”

“And you know Sigrid will not stand for that,” said Thranduil, “and neither should you. Just remember that for all the argument and insults that may pass between us, it is in all our interests that the treaty should be signed. Dale wishes to rebuild and prosper, Erebor and the Woodland Realm wish to trade and also to prosper, and we all wish to stand together against the threat from the Enemy, should his minions make another attempt upon our lands.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Bard. “I’ve already found that pretending to be angry and threatening to walk out tends to make Dáin a little bit more amenable.”

“He’s a typical man,” said Hilda, “he’ll respect you if you stand up to him. Well, some of them it only makes them worse, but ones like him, he’ll give you the time of day if you don’t let him walk all over you. Now, if your Majesties will excuse me, I have food to check on and ale to test. I wish you every success in your negotiations.” She gave them a sunny smile and bobbed another curtsey, and made her way down the stairs before Bard could protest at her use of his title.

“You seemed deep in conversation there, love,” said Bard as they watched Hilda bustling across the square, yelling commands left and right as she went. 

“I suppose we were,” said Thranduil. “I thought it was time I got to know some of your friends, and heard a little more about what life has been like for you all.”

“She’ll have been telling you horror stories about me, I’m sure,” said Bard, and Thranduil chuckled softly, shaking his head and slipping an arm around Bard’s waist. 

“Not at all,” he said. “Mostly she was telling me how much your people love you. And how pleased they are that you are happy.” He chuckled again. “And how many hearts you may have inadvertently broken when you kissed me at the gate when I arrived.”

Bard groaned. “Don’t. She’s winding you up. They’re all pining after you.”

“I do not think that she is, and I do not think that they are,” said Thranduil. “I would be more surprised if nobody had looked upon you and loved you. But they will have to content themselves with looking, because you are mine.”

“I am, at that,” said Bard. “And whichever one of us they’re looking at, that’s all they’re getting, because you belong to me, too.”

“Indeed I do. Now, I suppose Dáin will be arriving before too long, although I am sure we will hear him before we see him. Are you satisfied that everything is ready?”

“As ready as it’ll ever be,” said Bard, and he leaned up for the briefest of kisses. “Just wanted to get that in, seeing as we’re going to have to be decorous and seemly all day and I won’t be able to touch you.”

“Oh, I do not know about that,” said Thranduil. “Perhaps we will have to prove a point.”

“Behave yourself,” said Bard. “This is important. You can wind him up all you want at the feast afterwards, but in the talks, we have _got_ to be beyond reproach. Or at least, I have. You can probably get away with doing whatever you like, but I’m not established like you are. I have to do this properly.”

“Very well,” said Thranduil, “for your sake, meleth-nín, I will ‘behave myself’. But I do not guarantee that I will keep my hands off you at the feast. Midsummer is a time of celebration for my people, and decorousness is generally thrown to the winds.”

“Is it, now,” said Bard, one eyebrow raised. “I can’t see you going for that.”

“Perhaps not before,” said Thranduil, “but I find I am much lighter of heart this Midsummer, and perhaps I wish to celebrate, too.”

“Should I be worried?” asked Bard, but Thranduil could tell he did not really mean it. 

He was about to answer when he caught the faintest sound of a commotion coming from the direction of the city gate. “I do believe our honoured guest is here, meleth-nín,” he said. “Let us brace ourselves to greet him formally.”

Bard chuckled softly, a little ruefully. “Let’s do that,” he said, and he drew himself up to his full height, standing straight and tall and looking so impossibly noble and handsome that Thranduil’s heart almost stopped in his chest. He was an inexperienced leader, yes, but he had the strength and nobility of character to do his best for his people, and Thranduil intended to ensure that he had every opportunity to do so. 

He also intended to have some fun with Dáin, but that was secondary. The most important thing here was to get the treaty signed. And after that - the Midsummer celebrations. Today was going to be thoroughly enjoyable, he thought, and tonight even more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Hilda's backstory with regard to her husband has absolutely no basis in canon; it just came to me when I was writing an earlier chapter as an explanation for why she might have been spying on Bard in Lake-town, as she appears to do in Desolation of Smaug (unless I'm misremembering, which is also a possibility, I haven't rewatched the film in a while) although she also seems to generally support Bard in her other appearances. If the Master had something on her, or thought he had, he might have been able to pressure her into it, I thought, and then the mysterious disappearance of her abusive husband dropped into my head. I'm not saying she dunnit, but...I'm also not saying she didn't. Nobody knows, is the long and the short of it, and Hilda ain't talking. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	84. Equally Fair To All Three Realms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Dáin cross swords (metaphorically) over the negotiating table, and Bard puts his foot down.

“Well, look at you two!” cried Dáin as he made his way across the square. “Standing up there like Lord and Lady Muck to welcome me to your home! Only I’m not sure which of you is which, of course.” He strode up the steps to the top, making a beeline for where Thranduil and Bard were standing so that they both had to stand aside to allow him to come to a halt between them. He was wearing his crown, and a multitude of beads in his hair and beard as well as the boar’s tusks, and Bard had to admit to himself that he looked quite magnificent.

“Welcome to Dale, your Majesty,” he said mildly, extending a hand for Dáin to shake, which the King under the Mountain did, vigorously. Sigrid and Tauriel came up the steps behind him - they had acted as welcoming party, at the gate, and escort for Dáin and his entourage, which appeared to consist of Balin, Ori, Dwalin and a few others who Bard did not recognise.

“I’d wager you won’t be giving me the welcome you did him,” said Dáin, jutting his chin at Thranduil, and Bard glanced at his beloved to see the barest hint of amusement in his eyes, though nobody who did not know him would have noticed it.

“I can if you want,” said Bard, “but I don’t think you want me to.”

Dáin looked at him a moment, then let out a guffaw of laughter so loud that it echoed around the square. “Indeed I do not!” he said. “But I’ll be wanting to make sure that whatever game you’re playing with this one isn’t going to mess with my interests.”

“I assure you, Dáin Ironfoot, no games are being played here,” said Thranduil calmly, although Bard could hear in his voice how much he was looking forward to crossing swords with the Dwarven King - only metaphorically, he hoped. “We take the future of our three realms most seriously, and I would hope that you do too.”

Dáin harrumphed. “I’d wager that’s not the only thing you two have been ‘taking seriously’,” he said. “Come on then, let’s get started. Sooner we start, sooner we finish, sooner we can drink some of that ale I spy down there.”

“Allow me to show you to the house,” said Bard, before Dáin could just go walking straight into the great hall. “It isn’t far. We thought we’d set up in the dining room, seeing as there aren’t that many of us.”

“Fine, fine,” said Dáin. “Show me the way.”

Sigrid and Tauriel melted away and Bard suspected they were taking a shortcut through the alleyways; and so it proved, for when they reached the house at the top of the hill, they were there to welcome the three Kings, standing one of them each side of the doorway and smiling. Dáin harrumphed, but Bard saw his eyes twinkling when he looked at them, and that gave him hope that this would not be quite as difficult as he had feared.

Bard ushered Dáin into the house, letting him enter first, and showed him to the dining room. Sigrid and Tauriel had prepared the room the previous evening, leaving stacks of paper and pens and inkwells on the table, goblets from the Lake-town hoard, pitchers full of water, although Thranduil had been muttering that he was expecting to be sorely in need of wine within the first half an hour.

“Well well well, you have been busy,” said Dáin, looking around. “Or my lads and lassies have. Looks like you’re getting the worth out of them. I told you they could get this house ready in double-quick time.”

“We are most grateful for the help of your people,” said Bard smoothly. “Bofur in particular has proven to be a skilled foreman, and he has developed a good working relationship between the Dwarven builders and the people of Dale.” He could not help a smile. “My children are fond of him, too, especially Tilda.”

“Ach, well if that wee lassie likes him then I suppose there’s something to recommend him,” said Dáin, but Balin and Ori behind him exchanged a smile with Bard, and Dwalin’s face twitched in what might also have been a smile; Bard did not know him as well as the others, and he had the distinct impression that smiling was not something that Dwalin did around people he was not close to.

“Shall we get started?” said Bard, and they all took seats around the table, although Dwalin stayed standing behind Dáin’s chair, his arms folded somewhat menacingly. 

“Well, I think it’s all pretty straightforward,” said Dáin. “You let my people trade here, we carry on helping you rebuild, by way of payment of my cousin’s debt to you, and you,” he nodded to Thranduil, “stay out of it.”

“I too have interests here,” said Thranduil, and Dáin snorted.

“I’ll just bet you do,” he said. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“As it happens, my interests include trade, and keeping the peace,” said Thranduil calmly. “I traded with Lake-town, and I intend to continue doing so with Dale.”

“Aye, indeed,” said Dáin. “Handsomely negotiated discounts for you, I’m sure. I should think you never managed to work out such a good price for that wine of yours with the Master of Lake-town. But then he wasn’t nearly so nice to look at, was he?”

Bard was preparing to push his chair back and give Dáin a piece of his mind but Sigrid, next to him, laid her hand on his sleeve, nodding at Thranduil, who had a small smile playing about his lips. 

“Indeed he was not,” he said. “But that is not what I meant. My Dorwinion wine may come through Dale as it came through Lake-town, as may other commodities, when the city has re-established itself. I wonder if you remember it when it was the capital of the North, but I certainly do. There will be a great many ways in which our three realms may mutually benefit from the re-establishment of the market here. And there is another matter which we must discuss, that of the unexpected strength of the Enemy. It would be as well for us to form an alliance, so that we are not caught off-guard again.”

Dáin snorted. “Caught off-guard, my exceedingly well-upholstered arse. If you hadn’t been poncing around with all your shiny warriors, taking up all the attention, maybe we’d have noticed the buggers earlier!”

Bard was not at all sure that was how it had been, and Thranduil snorted. 

“I think your memory is failing you at your advanced age,” he said. “I think you will find that they came up behind you and your army and took you by surprise.”

“Oh yes? And how come you didn’t see them with your superior eyesight?” Dáin demanded. “Too busy making eyes at this one here, I think. I don’t need Elven eyesight to have spotted _that_.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “You are very predictable, King under the Mountain. Very tedious.” 

“And what d’you mean by _that_ , you pointy-eared -“ spluttered Dáin, and Thranduil stepped in before he could complete his insult.

“Only that it has been clear to me all along that you would use the relationship you perceive between myself and the King of Dale as a distraction from the very serious business of negotiating an alliance between our three realms,” he said smoothly. “I can only assume that you are either unprepared for these talks, despite having had long notice of them, or you are unprepared to forge an alliance with us.”

Dáin spluttered some more, and took a long drink of water; Bard could see that his hand was shaking a little, and he wondered whether he himself might not be the one walking out. Of course, he would only have been pretending, but Dáin would be serious, and that would be the end of any hopes he might have of keeping the Dwarves on friendly terms.

He was about to step in and try to smooth things over, but Dáin beat him to it.

“Unprepared! Unprepared! Dáin Ironfoot is _always_ ready to rise to any occasion that calls for him,” he said. “I came to this table thoroughly prepared to ‘forge an alliance’ with the two of you, regardless of my feelings about _you_ ,” he jabbed a finger in Thranduil’s direction, “but if you’re going to sit there insulting me with that smug smile on your pretty face, princess, perhaps I might just take my people back to the Mountain and leave the two of you to forge an alliance together. Or whatever it is you’ve been doing.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to respond, but Bard decided that this was where he should step in. “I think the insults have been flowing in both directions,” he said calmly. “And quite frankly, our personal lives are not part of this discussion. Any of them. We are here to discuss the formal alliance of our three peoples, and everything else is irrelevant.” He smiled. “For example, I do not know if you have a wife, a husband, a consort, a lover, or several of each, and I do not care. It isn’t relevant, and neither is any personal relationship that the Elvenking and I might have.” He paused, and smiled again. “Or any that we might share,” he said, and Dáin spluttered so hard that Bard thought he might choke.

“I knew it!” he said when he had regained his composure. “I knew there was more to that little extended sojourn in the woods than you were letting on. Hide-the-sausage indeed, assuming he has one. And it _is_ relevant, from where I sit. The two of you being -“ he coughed, “ _close_ means a closer alliance between Dale and the fairies than between Dale and Erebor, deals being done without us, terms that are more favourable to you than to me being negotiated, his sparkly influence over you, because Mahal knows you haven’t more than a thimbleful of experience and he knows what he’s doing. And then before we know it, you’re safely tucked away in his well-tailored pocket and the Dwarves are betrayed. Again.”

“Perhaps you are not capable of separating your personal life from the wellbeing of your people,” said Thranduil, and he sounded calm but Bard could hear the edge to his words, he knew that his beloved was becoming genuinely annoyed, “but I most certainly am, and the King of Dale may be inexperienced at ruling but that is a lesson he has learned long since. You may not trust me, or have any great regard for my honour, but you should know by now that his honour is impeccable and his word is his bond.”

Dáin snorted. “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw you, princess. But I’ll allow that he’s done nothing to make me doubt him so far. Although I seriously doubt his judgement where you’re concerned.”

Bard sighed inwardly. “Enough,” he said quietly, and he saw Thranduil glance at him, though Dáin was clearly preparing to launch into another diatribe. “Enough,” he said again, a little more loudly, and when he was certain he had Dáin’s attention, he continued. “I am not prepared to sit here all day wasting my time while you two bicker about what may or may not be happening. We are here to build an alliance between our three realms and to sign a treaty which has already been drawn up by our advisers and which sets out the terms by which we will all abide. Personal relationships have nothing to do with it, and there will be no ‘closer alliance between Dale and the fairies,’ as you so charmingly put it, Dáin, because all three of us are honourable and sensible and perfectly capable of keeping our own personal alliances separate from those of our people. And I might point out that I am perfectly capable of stating my own case, rather than having the two of you talk over my head as though I am a child who cannot make his own decisions. I may be younger than both of you, but I am not a child, and I will not be treated as one.” He drew in a deep breath and took a sip of water; most of his anger was a performance, but he did need to calm himself a little. “Now, let us leave personal relationships and petty insults aside, and take a look at this treaty which our advisers have taken so much trouble to draw up for us. Sigrid?”

Sigrid, sitting at his right hand, took up the sheaf of copies of the treaty which she and Tauriel and Balin had worked out, written in the three languages of the three realms, and passed them round the table so that everyone had one. Bard calmly met Thranduil’s eyes and then Dáin’s, and was gratified to see warmth and pride in Thranduil’s, respect in Dáin’s - and, he noticed, a spark of amusement in Dwalin’s, still standing motionless and menacing behind Dáin’s chair; Dwalin nodded almost imperceptibly at him, and Bard returned the gesture. He caught Balin’s eye as he looked down at the treaty, and the old Dwarf nodded too, his relief clear to see on his face. 

“We have negotiated very carefully,” said Sigrid, “and made sure that every article is equally fair to all three realms. Let us talk you through it, your Majesties.”

And Bard sat back in his chair, relaxing a little as Sigrid, Tauriel and Balin worked through the treaty, explaining everything they had agreed. They had been very thorough, it seemed, and had talked through everything from all three points of view, so there were very few interjections or interruptions from Thranduil or from Dáin; Bard himself was already satisfied with the terms of the treaty, having had the opportunity to read it through with Sigrid and Thranduil in the garden the previous evening, and Dáin had been given a copy by Balin, although he had a few more things to say about it than either Bard or Thranduil.

But all in all it was quite straightforward, and Bard was thankful for the thoroughness of their advisers. There was a bit of back-and-forth once they had read through the treaty once, and a break for lunch, but by mid-afternoon everyone was more or less happy. Exchanging a glance with Sigrid, he leaned forward, placing his hands on the table.

“Well, then,” he said. “Shall we get this signed and get it over with so that our guests can go and join the festivities out in the square?”

“I believe I am satisfied as to the contents,” said Thranduil, taking up a pen, although he made no move to dip it in the inkwell in front of him, his eyes fixed upon Dáin.

“Dale has no complaints,” said Bard. “What of Erebor?”

Dáin harrumphed and blustered for a moment or two, but eventually he took up his pen. “Fine, fine. You’ve all done a very good job. Now, once signed I shall consider this binding, so any hint that comes to my ears that you two are not sticking to it will be acted upon, are we clear?”

Bard sighed. “Again you insult our honour,” he said mildly. “How would you react, if I had said to you what you’ve just said to me?”

Dáin blustered a little more, but then subsided. “You’ve got me, laddie,” he said. “Fine, if you’re vouching for him, then it’s fine by me. Come on, then, let’s get this signed so I can go and drink some of that ale.” He took up his pen, dipped it in the inkwell beside his goblet of water, and signed his name at the bottom of his copy of the treaty. Bard, satisfied, signed his own, and saw Thranduil signing his copy in his familiar, flowing, beautiful script. They exchanged copies and signed again, and then again, until all three of them had a copy bearing three signatures. 

“There,” said Bard, “that’s that done. Now I think we should go and seal it with a drink in the square. There’s wine, for anyone who doesn’t want to try Margery and Hilda’s ale.” He caught Thranduil’s eye, and grinned at the look of relief on his beloved’s face. 

“ _Wine_ ,” snorted Dáin. “Ale for me, and ale for my fellows. Come on.”

And so they all made their way down into the square, where the celebrations were already in full swing, with music and dancing and plenty of food, ale for the grown-ups and fruit nectar from the Woodland Realm for the children. Bard and Thranduil hung back a little, letting Dáin go on ahead, and after a few steps Bard tucked his hand through Thranduil’s arm. Sigrid came to walk on Bard’s other side, taking his hand, and Tauriel tucked her hand through Thranduil’s other elbow.

“All things considered, I’d say that went quite well,” Bard said, and Thranduil chuckled.

“I think you did admirably, meleth-nín,” he said.

“Well, you were both behaving like children,” Bard said, “and simultaneously talking over my head as though I were a child, so I decided I’d had enough.”

“You were wonderful, Da,” said Sigrid.

“I did not intend to imply - I do not think you are a child,” said Thranduil, sounding somewhat chastened, and Bard sighed.

“I know, love,” he said. “I just think you got a little bit carried away ‘crossing swords’ with Dáin. And now that the serious stuff is over, you can cross your metaphorical swords all you like over a drink or two, and argue till the cows come home about what Dáin thinks of you and me.” He chuckled. “As long as you don’t bring it to the negotiating table again, you can bicker all you like. I think you’ll end up friends.”

“Highly unlikely,” Thranduil snorted, but Bard could hear the laugh in his voice, and he thought that the seeds of a grudging respect for the King under the Mountain were already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	85. We Live Twice As Much For Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard, Thranduil and their family join Dáin and the Dwarves at the Midsummer celebration; toasts are drunk, banter is exchanged and Tauriel gets a lesson in remembering lost loved ones.

They carried on down the hill, and by the time they reached the square they found Dáin sitting with Balin, Dwalin, Ori and his other companions, along with Bain and Tilda, who was sitting happily on Bofur’s knee. Hilda was just setting mugs of ale in front of them, and Agnes came behind her with a goblet of fruit nectar for Tilda. 

The little girl was the first to see them approaching and she let out a joyful squeal. “Da, Ada! We’ve been having the most wonderful time! Mister Bofur taught me a dance!”

“Did he, now?” laughed Bard, coming to sit next to them on the bench; Thranduil took a seat opposite them, next to Bain, with Tauriel next to him and Sigrid next to Bard.

“That was very kind of him,” said Thranduil, inclining his head to Bofur.

“Well, we like to dance at Midsummer, your Majesties,” said Bofur, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Lady Tilda’s a natural. I’ve two left feet, really, but she picked it up right away, and off we went.”

“I’m sorry we missed it,” said Bard, as Hilda came back past with more mugs of ale; she plunked one down in front of each of them, and Thranduil gave his a dubious glance, though his frown melted away almost immediately. 

“Thank you, Hilda,” he said gravely, “I find that I cannot quite gain a taste for ale.”

Hilda grinned. “Thought as much. Which is why you’ve got wine instead. You’ll have to content yourself with the mug though, that’s all we’ve got outside the treasure-hoard.”

“I am sure I will survive this once,” said Thranduil, arching a brow at her, and she chuckled; Bard thought that she was about to clap him on the shoulder, but she managed to restrain herself at the last moment and swept back off into the crowd again. 

“Well then,” cried Dáin after a moment, “now we’ve all got a drink, let’s toast that treaty. We’ve a good little gang of advisers, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed,” said Bard, raising his mug and glancing at Sigrid and Tauriel with a smile. “To the alliance between Dale, Erebor and the Woodland Realm, and long may it last!”

Everyone at the table raised their mugs, even Thranduil and even Tilda, and brought them all together in the middle with a cry of “Long may the alliance last!” although some were louder and more enthusiastic with their mugs than others. 

“And now another toast,” said Dáin once they had all taken a good long drink, “much as it pains me to drink a toast to you, princess.” He tilted his mug in Thranduil’s direction, and Thranduil only smiled serenely, tilting his own mug at Dáin. “To my two allies, who seem to have been busy allying themselves to each other. Usually we drink to a fruitful partnership but I’m assuming that isn’t quite appropriate, though Mahal knows it wouldn’t surprise me with the fairies involved. So here’s to the pair of you, may you know every happiness, and may _you_ teach _him_ a few more manners!” He tilted his mug at Bard and then at Thranduil, and then held it aloft.

Bard exchanged a glance with Thranduil, whose expression seemed to be balancing on a knife-edge between amusement and annoyance; Bard hoped he would choose amusement, for it would be a shame if their fragile alliance should be shattered so quickly. 

Taking matters into his own hands, Bard raised his mug, and decided to answer for both of them before Thranduil said something everyone would regret. “We thank you for your kind words,” he said, “and perhaps the less said about manners the better.” He met Dáin’s eyes and held his gaze steadily, letting just a hint of humour lighten his expression, and after a moment Dáin let out a roar of laughter and crashed his mug against Bard’s.

“There’s no getting one over on you, is there, laddie?” he cried, holding his mug out at Thranduil, and after a moment Thranduil gamely clinked his own mug against it. 

“You would do well to learn that lesson, King under the Mountain,” he said. “The King of Dale should not be underestimated, and nor should his children.”

“Oh, I learned that very early on, princess,” Dáin said, taking a long draught from his mug. “Especially this canny lass here. All sweetness and light on the outside, and steelier than all our swords put together on the inside.” He gestured at Sigrid, and she smiled calmly at him. 

“I only speak my mind as I see it,” she said. “I don’t see the point in beating about the bush when there is work to be done.”

“Aye, indeed,” said Dáin. “And I suppose you’ll have heard that your ambassador here had me at swordpoint during one of our early meetings? I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”

“I was merely countering an insult you gave me and my people,” said Tauriel sweetly. “Besides, I think you rather enjoyed it.”

“Cheeky wench!” said Dáin, guffawing and waving his mug so vigorously that he almost spilled his ale. The other Dwarves were suppressing smiles, even Dwalin, and Bard thought that Tauriel had earned the respect of every last one of them. “Is this how you Elves bring up your young ones, to have no respect for their elders?”

“I would say that respect must be earned,” said Thranduil. “It certainly is not granted automatically based on the age of an individual.”

“And what d’you mean by that?” Dáin demanded, and Tauriel smiled.

“I think that what my King is saying, your Majesty,” she said smoothly, “is that I may look young, but I am approximately five times as old as you are, and therefore I regret to inform you that you are not my elder.”

“Ah, bugger the lot of you!” said Dáin. “With your pretty faces and your smooth skin and not a beard among you. I’m hard put to it to tell which are the lads and which are the lasses, you all look the same to me, and as for your ages - if even this wee girl is a thousand years old, how are we to tell anything about you?”

“Well, I’m afraid with all your beards, you all look the same to me,” said Tauriel, “so I suppose we’re even.”

“When we were in Rivendell,” Ori piped up, although he went wide-eyed as everyone looked at him, and continued in a much smaller voice, “Kíli thought that one of the he-Elves was a lady. Sorry, Tauriel.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if he’d thought I was a he-Elf,” said Tauriel, her voice just the tiniest bit unsteady, and Bard glanced at her to see a bright, brittle smile upon her face, though her eyes were shining with tears. Thranduil slipped his arm around her and drew her close, and Dáin’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he addressed her. 

“He was a good lad,” he said, “and I know you well enough by now to know that he knew how to pick a lassie, even if it’s more by luck than judgement that you turned out to be a lass.”

“Thank you,” said Tauriel. “I think.”

“You think!” crowed Dáin. “See, this is why I like you. Right, I’m going to get some more ale. Maybe watch the dancing a wee while. Someone mentioned a bonfire?”

“Later,” said Bard. “When the sun’s going down, we used to light a bonfire on the shores of the lake, but this year it’ll be outside the gates. We won’t let you miss it.”

“So I should hope,” said Dáin. “Well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Until later, my newly-minted allies!” He headed across the square, followed by Dwalin and Balin and the Dwarves Bard did not know, although Bofur stayed, and Ori, after hovering indecisively, came to sit next to Tauriel.

“I’m sorry, Tauriel,” he said shyly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. It just sort of came out before I could stop myself.”

“It’s all right, Ori,” said Tauriel. “I will have to learn to hear his name spoken, won’t I? I can’t expect his friends never to mention him again in front of me.’

“I suppose,” said Ori, his eyes downcast. “We’ve been telling tales about them, you know, Thorin and Fíli and…and Kíli. It hurts, but some of them are funny stories, and some of them make us laugh anyway.”

“Aye,” said Bofur, leaning across the table, his usual merry demeanour suppressed for the time being. “Keeps them with us, so it does. It isn’t the same, but it’s better than forgetting them.”

“I have been learning a great deal from you, and from the people here in Dale,” said Tauriel. “Everyone has lost so many people but somehow you are all carrying on. I must do no less.”

“We’re carrying on for them, too,” said Bain suddenly. “For all the people who don’t get to. We - you know, we had friends who died. Same age as us, and younger. They don’t get to grow up, but we do. So we…we live twice as much. For them.”

Bard leaned round Bofur to clasp his son’s shoulder. The lad hadn’t mentioned his friends in all this time, or not to him, at least, but it sounded as though he had been doing a lot of thinking.

“That is a good way of looking at it,” said Thranduil quietly after a moment. “You do not stop living because they have gone. You live _more_ because of it.”

Bain nodded, and Tilda, who had been quiet throughout the conversation, leaned over to hug her brother for a moment. “I miss them,” she said in a very small voice. “It isn’t right that they’re not here, but they’re not.” She sniffled. “And I liked Fíli and Kíli. They helped us, when the Orcs came.”

“They did,” said Sigrid. “Fíli got in the way of one and made sure I got under the table, and then I grabbed Tilda. They were very brave.”

“They were lots of fun, too,” said Ori quietly. “Not then, because Kíli was so sick, but before.”

“I did have the impression that Kíli had something of a sense of humour,” Tauriel said. “When I…spoke to him in the dungeons.” She glanced up at Thranduil, and he smiled.

“I have said to you, have I not, hanariel-nín, that perhaps I should not put you on guard duty if you are going to develop a habit of falling in love with prisoners,” he said lightly, squeezing Tauriel’s shoulders, and she wavered a little but then steeled herself and smiled.

“I do not think it will happen again, Adarhanar,” she said. “Once…once was enough.”

“He was a good lad,” said Bofur. “They both were. Two of the best of us.” He raised his mug, and everyone gently brought their mugs together and then drank a silent toast to the memory of Kíli and his brother. 

“Now,” said Tauriel, sounding very much as though she was pulling herself together, “I would like to see the dancing, too. Tilda, Sigrid, Bain, will you show me?”

Tilda perked up. “Of course we will,” she said. “Come on! Mister Bofur, Mister Ori, you come too!” And in half a moment they were all making their way off through the crowd, leaving Thranduil and Bard looking at each other across the table.

“Don’t you want to see the dancing, love?” Bard asked, and Thranduil smiled, shaking his head.

“Perhaps a little later,” he said. “For now, I think I will be quite content to sit and have a drink with you, meleth-nín, and let the festivities go on around us.”

“Suits me,” said Bard, taking a sip of his ale. “Do you think Tauriel is going to be all right?” he asked after a moment, and Thranduil nodded slowly.

“I think so,” he said. “She seems to be surrounded by friends who have a much better understanding of these matters than our people generally do. I should perhaps learn the same lessons, against the time when I will need them.”

“They’re right,” said Bard, reaching across the table to take Thranduil’s hand in his. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it does help in other ways. It helps you get used to it. And gradually, as the time passes, the pain dulls. It never goes away, but it does get easier to bear.”

“I hope you are right,” said Thranduil quietly. “I do not know quite how I will bear it.”

“You’ll have the children with you, and Tauriel, and your son, he’ll be home by then,” said Bard, hoping he was right. “They’ll take care of you, they won’t let you be alone.” He leaned over the table, resting his forehead against Thranduil’s and then tilting his head for a brief, soft kiss. “Now, come on, let’s not think of that now. Let’s distract ourselves and take our drinks and go and find somewhere to stand and watch the dancing. Midsummer is a time for hope, and celebration.”

“As long as you do not expect me to dance,” said Thranduil, and Bard laughed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love. You won’t catch me doing it either. Come on.” He moved around the table, pulling Thranduil to his feet, and they made their way off into the crowd to find a quiet vantage point from which to sit with their drinks and watch the dancing. All in all, he thought, today had been quite the success. The treaty was signed, Dáin seemed to be reassured as to his and Thranduil’s relationship, and the festivities were just getting properly going. Tauriel and the children were in the thick of the dancing with Bofur and Ori, and even Sigrid was dancing, her serious demeanour entirely forgotten as she allowed Tauriel to swing her round, then Bofur, then Bain, then Ori, who was blushing scarlet, and finally Tilda, all of them laughing. It was good to see them enjoying themselves; they had had such a hard time of it, all of them, but just for now, it seemed, they could let themselves forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> hanariel-nín: my niece (literally: brother-daughter; my own construction)  
> adarhanar: uncle (literally: father-brother; my own construction)  
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	86. A Light Into The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has a conversation with Percy about Midsummer traditions, and Bard, and the children.

Later, everyone piled out of the city gates in a laughing, bustling throng, mugs in hands and barrels of ale rolling along between some of the members of Percy’s guards. The sun was almost setting, turning the sky and the land golden and painting everyone’s faces in shining light, Thranduil thought; not quite like those few Elves he had met who had lived under the light of the Two Trees, but not far off it.

An enormous heap of wood and debris had been piled up some way outside the walls, whatever remains of the old city that hadn’t been burned for warmth over the winter and all manner of refuse from the rebuilding laid piece by piece on top of each other until it piled at least twice his height. Everyone gathered around it, and several pairs of hands pulled Bard forward, away from Thranduil and into the space by the pyre; someone shoved a burning torch into his hands, and he looked at it for a moment and then gazed round at all the faces in the crowd, watching him eagerly. They knew what was to come, thought Thranduil, but he and his people, and Dáin and the Dwarves he’d wager, had no idea. 

“It’s been a long time since last Midsummer,” said Bard after a few moments, pitching his voice to carry. “Feels like two years at least, maybe three.”

“More like five!” came a voice from somewhere in the crowd; Thranduil thought it was Hilda’s.

“All right, maybe more like five,” Bard said, a laugh in his voice. “We’ve seen a lot, lived through a lot, lost more than we could ever have imagined. But I think we’ve gained one or two things, too.” He looked around at the crowd again, a warm smile on his lips, and for a moment he caught Thranduil’s gaze and held it. “We’ve seen more than enough of fire this year, but here’s just one more, to send a light into the night and make the long day longer. And to warn off anyone else who might be thinking of making an attempt on us. Evil has no place here, and we’re stronger now, because we have allies. So this time, the Enemy had better stand warned.” He thrust the burning torch into the bonfire, and within moments it caught, the flames growing and spreading until the whole pile was alight. A mighty cheer went up and Bard stood back from the fire, and was immediately engulfed in people, all wanting to pat his back or hug him, all of them clamouring for his attention.

Thranduil stood back, a little bewildered, a little unsettled by the size of the fire, and watched as his beloved turned this way and that, embracing people, returning pats on the back, laughing with them. Someone struck up a song and others joined in, more yelling than singing, and from what Thranduil could make of the words, it sounded distinctly unrefined.

“He’s a good lad,” came a voice that Thranduil did not recognise, and he looked round to see Percy standing by him, a look of pure affection on his face. “Known him since he was a babe, I have, and he’s always been the best of us.”

“I have been getting that impression,” said Thranduil, and Percy laughed.

“Of course you have,” he said. “He’s kind and brave and honourable through and through, that one. I’m not at all surprised you saw that from the start and then couldn’t look away.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, and Percy laughed again.

“If you’ll forgive me for being so forward, your Majesty, I saw it from that first day, after the battle. When you and Miss Tauriel came down off the hill, both of you shattered in pieces.” He shrugged. “And if you can look after our Bard and keep him safe and warm, I’ll be the first to commend you. Especially if you can get him to stop overworking himself.”

Thranduil could not help a soft laugh. “I have been trying to do so,” he said. “He takes so much onto himself that he does not need to. You are all quite capable of getting on with your own tasks, of that I am certain.”

Percy chuckled. “Well, he thinks that now he’s in charge, he’s responsible for all of it, which means, in his head, that he has to do all of it. I’ve managed to get him to stop worrying about the defences, he knows he can trust me with that, and Bain’s busy making sure the young ones will be ready to step up before too long. But the rest of it, especially the building work - he doesn’t know when to stop.”

“I am attempting to teach him to delegate,” said Thranduil, “but as I am not particularly used to it myself, I am not sure how much success I am having.”

Percy nodded. “Well, you’re commander of your armies, as well as being King, aren’t you? Everything comes down to you, although that Feren chap of yours seems pretty capable to me.”

“I have left him in charge of the Woodland Realm in my stead, while I am here in Dale,” said Thranduil. “It is - strange. Before the battle I had not left my realm in centuries, and I had certainly not thought to delegate leadership to another, even Feren, whom I have known almost all my life.” He shook his head, unsure quite why he was confiding all this to a stranger.

“Must be hard to get used to,” said Percy. “I think last autumn brought big changes for all of us, you know. None of us can carry on as we were. I mean, obviously not us -" he gestured around at the people of Dale, and the Dwarves, almost all of whom were happily drinking and dancing around the fire. “But you as well, I think. You lost plenty of good men on that field just like we did. Maybe it’s just the world telling all of us it’s time to do things differently.” He chuckled softly, gesturing at the fire. “Although some things stay the same.”

“The customs?” Thranduil asked. “I suppose it helps, to continue celebrating the things you celebrated before.”

“Aye,” said Percy. “Light the fires, burn the old year away, keep the evil out. Bard’s been the one to give the speech and light the fire for years, since his dad died, the Master never wanted anything to do with it. We do it at Midwinter, too, though none of us felt much like actually celebrating last time. You’ll be seeing a few more customs later, and all, if you stay into the night.” He chuckled again, and Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

“Such as -?” he asked, and Percy grinned.

“Oh, all sorts of things. When the fire’s died down enough, any young couples brave or foolish enough will jump hand-in-hand right over it. Supposed to grant ‘em fertility. I couldn’t comment, me and my Greta did it three Midsummers running before our first little one deigned to show his face.” He chuckled. “And once it gets properly dark - well, a lot of people used to go skinny-dipping in the lake. Not sure how they’re going to manage that this time, but I suppose there is the river just over there.”

“And what is that supposed to bring?” Thranduil asked, and Percy burst into laughter.

“Temporary numbness, and a lot of drunken fumbling,” he said when he got his breath back. “Mostly it’s an excuse to see the one you’re sweet on without any clothes, not that you can see much because it’s more or less dark by then. The children have all been put to bed by then, of course.”

“Of course,” echoed Thranduil. “I suppose it is a great rite of passage, the first year one is allowed to stay for the - ah - the rest of the festivities.”

“Pretty much,” said Percy. “Me, I always found that bit a little too…personal. Made our excuses, Greta and I did, snuck away. Didn’t need everyone looking, and didn’t need to look at everyone else. Or much want to.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “I can understand that. Well, I shall not be partaking in any such rituals, but I will not forbid it if my people wish to join in.”

“I should think we might be in the process of beginning a new tradition for your people, and for the Dwarves, if they want to join in,” said Percy. “It’d be nice if we could share the big celebrations, our three peoples. Bring us closer together, that sort of thing. They’re a good bunch, the Dwarves, most of them, even if some of them did bring the dragon down on our heads. And your lot too, they’re a fine lot, brave and strong and happy to help out. If it wasn’t for so many people dying, I’d have said the dragon did us a favour, getting us out of Lake-town and getting rid of the Master.”

“Very little that is good in life comes to us without some losses along the way,” said Thranduil. “I suppose that what matters is what we do with what we are given.”

“Aye, I think you’re right there,” said Percy. “You only get one life, no matter how long it is. Best to make sure you do some good with it.”

“That is wisdom indeed,” said Thranduil. “I think the people of Dale are living by it.”

“Now more than before,” said Percy. “We’ve had it shown to us in no uncertain terms. So we’re getting on and living for all the ones who lost that chance, and building something better than what we had before. And if some of us are working too hard,” he smiled, his eyes twinkling, “then maybe they need a little reminder that there’s more to life than work.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “I will do my best,” he said. “I care very greatly for him - for all of them, the children included.”

“They need reminding to have some fun occasionally too,” said Percy. “Especially Sigrid, that girl’s always worked too hard. Just like her dad, she is. Bain’s enjoying his training, but he needs to stop sometimes. Tilda’s the only one who’s really having fun most of the time, but then she’s still little enough that the work she’s doing just seems like playing.”

“She seems to have discovered a true affinity for plants,” said Thranduil. “As I understand it, she wants to grow healing herbs as well as fruit and vegetables.”

“She’s a good girl,” said Percy. “Takes after her mum, she does. Bain’s a bit of both of them, and Sigrid’s Bard all over again, with a little bit of Maudie thrown in for good measure.”

“They are a delight, all three of them,” said Thranduil. “And growing up before my eyes. Even in the last few months they have changed.”

Percy chuckled. “That’s what children do, or human ones, anyway. You turn around one day and they’re tall as you are and answering you back. Next thing you know, they’re courting, and next after that they’ve got little ones of their own. You just have to make the most of them while they’re little. Well, you’ve mostly missed that part with those three, Sigrid and Bain are nearly grown, but Tilda’s mostly still a little girl.”

“She is most charming,” said Thranduil. “And not afraid of anyone, least of all me.”

“That’s Maudie, that is,” said Percy. “Never scared of anyone, that girl. Besides, Tilda adores you. They all do, I can see it every time they look at you. Seems like you’ve been just what they needed.”

“They have been exactly what I needed, too,” Thranduil admitted quietly. “I did not know it, but it seems that they did. They are very dear to me.”

“They’re dear to all of us too,” said Percy. “Does us good to see them so happy.”

Thranduil was about to answer when Tilda came barrelling out of the crowd straight towards them, wrapping her arms around his waist; he scooped her up and she squealed in delight.

“Come and see the fire, Ada! Hello, Percy!”

“Evening, Tilda,” said Percy. “How’s the fire doing?”

“It’s _huge_ ,” said Tilda. “We’ve been looking for the fire-spirits to tell fortunes.”

“And how are you getting on?” asked Thranduil.

“Not very well,” Tilda giggled, “they keep disappearing. You might be able to see them though, you’ve got better eyesight than any of us.”

“Well, let us try, then,” said Thranduil, nodding to Percy and steeling himself to approach the fire; Percy tilted his mug at him and turned to vanish into the crowd. Thranduil carried Tilda back to the fire and set her down beside Sigrid, who was standing on her own a little way back from the pyre, gazing into the flames. He knelt down beside Tilda so that she could explain about the fire-spirits and the fortune-telling, although he could only follow about a third of what she was saying, and could not work out exactly what these fire-spirits were supposed to be; all he could see was flames dancing and flickering somewhat disconcertingly. Still, he supposed, he could pretend.

“I think the fire-spirits say that Dale will be happy and prosperous,” he said, “and so will you and yours, pen-neth.” 

“Do they?” Tilda turned a beaming smile upon him, and he felt his heart turn over in his chest. He would fight to the death to protect this little girl, if he had to, he knew he would, her and all of her family.

“I think they do,” he said, hugging her close for a moment. “And I think they are right.”

“I think so too,” said Sigrid, and Thranduil stood up, keeping his hands on Tilda’s shoulders. “We’ve laid a good foundation today.” She giggled. “I thought you kept your temper with Dáin quite marvellously.”

Thranduil smiled. “I did not wish to give him the satisfaction of letting him see his words have an effect upon me,” he said. “Privately I think that he is insufferably rude, and far too concerned with things that are absolutely none of his business, but I would not dream of saying that to his face across the negotiating table. Perhaps I will tell him across the drinking table instead; I think he would appreciate it more.”

Sigrid giggled again. “Maybe you should. Let’s see if you get a chance later.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you for humouring Tilda about the fire-spirits,” she said, very quietly. “I know it can’t be easy for you, being this close to such a huge fire.”

Thranduil looked at her, nonplussed, one eyebrow going up automatically. “What gives you the idea that this is not easy for me, melinettë-nín?” he asked, mildly, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“I read the history books, Ada,” she said. “I read about you and the dragon. That sort of thing leaves a mark on a person, in here,” she tapped her temple. 

“Then should not all of you have found something else with which to mark the Midsummer festival than a giant bonfire?” Thranduil could not help asking. “You have all had an unpleasant experience with dragonfire, and far more recently than I have.”

Sigrid shrugged. “We’re not letting the dragon win. If we change our customs, he wins. Anyway, you’ll notice we’re all giving the fire a wide berth tonight. Usually we’d be much closer.” She gestured around, and Thranduil saw that everyone was in fact standing back from the fire, a good twelve feet or so. “I don’t know if anyone’ll be feeling like jumping over it, later, either. Although the sooner a few babies start turning up, I suppose the sooner we’ll all feel like life is getting back to normal.”

“Percy did not seem to think that jumping over the fire did anything much towards the arrival of children,” said Thranduil, and Sigrid laughed.

“Of course it doesn’t. There’s other things for that. But people believe it, that’s the important thing.” She snorted softly. “Personally, I shan’t be having any babies, but there are plenty of other people to be doing that.”

Thranduil smiled. “There is no young man who has taken your fancy, then, melinettë-nín?”

Sigrid snorted again. “No, and there won’t be. Nor any young woman. I haven’t the time or the inclination for any of that. Let other people worry about whether their sweetheart likes them, or whether they’ll be married, or whether there’ll be babies. I can’t think of anything I’d like to do less.”

“You have other things to be doing,” said Thranduil. “I can understand that.”

“I have,” said Sigrid, “but that’s not why. I just don’t want to do all of that. I don’t want a sweetheart, or a husband, or a wife for that matter, or babies. I want to live my life on my own terms, and make sure Dale is governed the best it can be for everyone who lives here.”

“And you will,” said Thranduil. “I know you well enough to know that.” He chuckled softly. “And I do not need the fire-spirits to tell me it, either.”

Sigrid smiled, and leaned her head on his arm; after a moment he slipped his arm around her and drew her close, still holding Tilda against him with his other hand upon her shoulder. 

“The dragonfire did not only leave its mark upon my mind,” he said quietly after a while. “But I hide it.”

“I think we’re all hiding our marks,” said Sigrid. “Some people still have wounds that won’t quite heal, you know, on their bodies, but we all have scars in our minds. But we put them aside and try to carry on. We don’t want the dragon to win.”

“Hence the fire,” said Thranduil, “the same as every year.”

“Exactly. It’s hard to look at it now, but it’ll get easier. And provided nobody does anything stupid, nobody’ll get burned.” She chuckled softly. “There’s usually a few people doing stupid things, later on, once everyone’s properly drunk. But I think maybe this year people might be a bit more careful.”

“Let us hope so,” said Thranduil, as Bard joined them, Bain in tow, both of them smiling broadly, although Thranduil could see a haunted look in their eyes when they glanced at the fire. 

“I don’t know about you,” said Bard, “but I’m beginning to feel like heading back to the house. I’ve definitely had enough to drink, and I’ve no intention of jumping over the fire or going swimming in the river.”

“Let’s go home, Da,” said Sigrid. “I think I’ve had enough of the bonfire.”

“As have I,” said Thranduil. “Shall we go and make up some rooms in the big house for the children? I find I would like to have them close by.”

Bard gave him a look that said he knew what Thranduil was doing, but that he could not quite bring himself to argue. “All right,” he said. “You might have to camp out on the floor, you lot, I don’t know if there are spare beds yet, but we’ll sort something out.”

Sigrid grinned. “Actually, there are at least three rooms with beds in them that aren’t being used,” she said. “I checked the other day. Although Til can come in with me if she wants to, first night in a new house and all.”

“Yes please,” said Tilda in a small voice, and Thranduil squeezed her shoulder. 

“You will be quite safe, Tilda,” he said. “Your father and I will be very close by.”

“That’s all right then,” said Tilda, and they began to make their way towards the city gate, saying their goodnights to people as they passed. Dáin and his entourage were clashing mugs together and singing lewd songs with some of Percy’s guards a little way back from the fire, oblivious to all around them; Thranduil did not feel particularly inclined to disturb them simply to bid them a good night, and so they left them to it. There would be plenty of other opportunities for Dáin to insult them while in his cups, after all.

Tauriel, however, was sitting with some of Thranduil’s guards and a couple of Dwarves, and she waved them on their way as they explained where they would be tonight.

“I’ll sleep in the little house,” she said, “it doesn’t bother me. But I might come and steal a room in the big house tomorrow. Sleep well, everyone!”

And off they went, through the gates and up the hill to the big house to spend their first night there as a family. Thranduil thought that Midsummer was an auspicious time for it, and hopefully tomorrow he would be able to persuade Bard to allow them to stay there, and leave the little house behind for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> ada: father (informal)  
> pen-neth: little one  
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	87. A Bridge Between Our Peoples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard, Thranduil, Sigrid and Bain sit in the garden of the big house on Midsummer's Night, and talk about dragons, and scars, and an idea for how to get the rest of the white gems back out of the Mountain and further build ties with the Dwarves.

Tilda went to bed straight away, yawning widely and accepting good-night kisses from Bard and Thranduil before Sigrid accompanied her upstairs to sit with her while she fell asleep. Bain declared that he wasn’t tired, and Bard suggested sitting in the garden for a little while. 

“It’s a beautiful night,” he said, “and it’s not really all that late. I’d just had a bit more than enough of the crowd, and the fire.”

“So had I,” said Thranduil. “It has been a long time, but I am still not over-fond of fire that is uncontrolled, or at least, not safely contained in a fireplace or a cresset.”

“Da told me about the dragon,” said Bain, sounding a little subdued, as they made their way out to the garden, passing through the kitchen to fetch a flagon of wine and another of water, a handful of goblets. “Your dragon, I mean.”

Bard glanced at Thranduil, but his beloved only smiled, looking a little amused.

“I think the dragon would have had something to say about being called ‘mine’,” he said. “As I am sure Smaug would have been extremely vocal in his displeasure if someone had referred to him as ‘yours’. On the other hand, they are both dead, so their opinions do not matter any more.”

Bain snickered, clapping his hand over his mouth as though he was not sure he should laugh. “He was pretty horrible,” he said after a moment, subdued again once his laughter subsided. “And so sure he would win. I was really scared.”

“Anyone who is not terrified on facing a dragon is a fool and an idiot,” said Thranduil. “They are among the most terrible of the creatures of the world. Or should I perhaps say they were, for as far as I know there are no more.”

“Oh,” said Bain, his eyes wide. “So Smaug was the last one, and Da…finished him off?” The lad sounded reluctant to say ‘killed’, and Bard couldn’t blame him. 

“He did,” said Thranduil. “And so did you, for as I have been told if you had not been there to stand in for the centre of your father’s bow, he would not have been able to shoot the Black Arrow into the dragon’s hide.”

“You brought me the arrow, too, Bain,” said Bard. “There’s no way I could have got it in time, locked up as I was, if you hadn’t brought it up there to me, on the bell tower. The whole town was burning and you still climbed up there.”

“He jumped right out of the boat we were trying to escape in,” said Sigrid, appearing in the kitchen doorway and crossing the grass to sit down with them. “I thought he had lost his mind.” She nudged her brother in the ribs, and Bain nudged back, automatically. 

“So did I,” he said. “But I had to get it. We saw you up there, Da, and we knew there was nothing we could do if you didn’t have the arrow. And we were just going past where I’d hidden it, so I had to go.”

“Well, I am very glad that you did,” said Thranduil, “otherwise I may well never have met any of you, and I cannot adequately explain to you how thankful I am to have you all in my life.”

“Me too,” said Sigrid. “We were sitting there in the boat as the dragon went over, and all we could do was watch. For a moment we thought we’d lost you both, when the dragon smashed the bell tower, but then -“ she paused, drew a deep breath in, and continued, “then we saw you again, and you had the Black Arrow, and Kíli saw you hit your mark, Da. He was so sure of it, though we couldn’t see properly, Tilda and I, and Bofur and Fíli thought you hadn’t. The dragon went up so high, we thought it was going to dive and breathe fire again, but then - then its light went out, and down it came and it crashed so close to us, it was so loud. And we couldn’t see you any more, either of you.” She closed her eyes, and Bard slipped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. 

“We had no idea if you’d got out, sweetheart,” he said quietly, resting his cheek on her hair for a moment. “Not until we found you on the shore.”

“I’m never going to forget that moment,” said Sigrid. “Never. We didn’t know if you’d survived, we thought…I don’t know about Tilda, but I was beginning to think you were both dead. And then there you were. There you were…” Her voice hitched and broke, and Bard pulled her into his arms, holding her close as her shoulders shook. It had been a very long time since he had seen Sigrid cry, and this time she had been holding everything inside for such a long time, being strong for her family and her people and never letting herself break. 

Bain patted her on the back, rather awkwardly, and Thranduil reached out to smooth a hand gently over her hair, murmuring something in his own tongue that Bard could not make out. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Bard said as Sigrid’s sobs began to subside, “we’re all here, and all of that is over. You’re safe now, and you always will be, if I have anything to do with it.”

Sigrid gulped and sniffed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath and then another, sitting up and scrubbing at her eyes with the end of her sleeve. “Sorry,” she said, somewhat indistinctly, “I don’t know why…I just…I think it was the fire. It reminded me, and then all of a sudden…it was as though I was back there.”

“There is no need to apologise, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil, softly but firmly. “You have seen terrible things, and it is better to let out your feelings about them than to keep them trapped inside you where they can do nothing but turn to poison.” He chuckled softly. “I believe I am somewhat qualified to advise you on this matter.”

Sigrid sniffed again, and giggled, although it sounded to Bard as though it was very close to being another sob. “I know, Ada,” she said. “But…I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to let it win.”

“Weeping because you remember a time when you were frightened for your life and the lives of all of your loved ones is not ‘letting it win’,” said Thranduil. “It is a natural reaction. Were you not telling me only a little while ago that everyone in this city bears scars from what happened that night, and afterwards? That includes you, melinettë-nín, and it is nothing to be ashamed of.” He sighed softly. “I, too, found it difficult to be near the fire for any length of time, and my own experiences with dragonfire were far longer ago than yours, although I still bear the scars.”

“I can’t believe none of us got burned,” said Bain. “I mean, we were all right in the thick of it, and we got out without even a scorch on us.”

“I think I lost the ends of some of my hair,” said Bard, “although it’s always been so scruffy, it’s hard to tell. All in all we’re probably lucky our only scars are in here.” He tapped his temple, and Thranduil shook his head. 

“Scars do not have to be visible to cause pain,” he said softly. “Nor do they have to be physical. None of you should play down what you have experienced. You survived, yes, you did not sustain burns or other injuries, but you still bear wounds and they will take time to heal. You should be kind to yourselves. And do not be ashamed if you cannot always keep your composure.” He smiled warmly at them, and leaned over to pour some wine into each goblet, watering Sigrid’s and Bain’s quite liberally. “Now I think we should all drink a toast to not letting the dragon win - and to the successful conclusion of our treaty with the Dwarves.” He passed each of them a goblet, and then raised his own.

“I’ll drink to that,” Bard said, lifting his goblet, “both of them. I was expecting it to take a lot longer, with Dáin, but you and Tauriel and Balin had it all sewn up already, Sigrid. You’ve done such a good job, the three of you.”

“You should all be proud of yourselves,” said Thranduil, tapping his goblet to Bard’s, then to Sigrid’s and then to Bain’s. “You prepared the treaty so thoroughly that there was no room for any objections - from any of us.” His eyebrow was arched, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Bard thought he was sending himself up, the tiniest bit.

“Even from Dáin?” Bain wanted to know. “I thought he was going to be really difficult.”

“So did I,” said Bard. “He had a go, but once we got past the whole thing about me and your Ada, and Sigrid put the treaty in front of him, he realised that we were taking it seriously and we expected him to do the same. And he realised that nobody was favouring anyone and everyone was being treated equally. I think he was worried that the Dwarves would be shut out, but now he has seen that we have no intention of doing that.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” said Bain. “I like them. The Dwarves, I mean. They say what they mean and mean what they say…if you see what I mean.” He grinned. “And I asked Dwalin again about teaching us to fight with axes, and he didn’t say yes, but he also didn’t say no, either, so I think that’s progress.”

“Keep working on him,” said Bard. “I should think eventually he’ll come round.”

“I just wish I could learn their language,” said Sigrid wistfully. “But Balin says it’s secret, it’s only for Dwarves, so they don’t let any outsiders learn it.”

“They were ever a secretive people,” said Thranduil a little dismissively. “They like to keep people out.”

“Maybe,” said Sigrid, “but Ada, so do you. It’s only been since the battle that you’ve been talking to other people.”

“She’s got you there, love,” said Bard, and Thranduil rolled his eyes and sighed. 

“I suppose so. Well, I have had my reasons. And after what happened to my first home I have reason to be suspicious of Dwarves. But I will allow that Dáin Ironfoot seems to be trustworthy, and the members of Thorin Oakenshield’s company who survived appear to be wiser than Oakenshield himself, in the main, at least.”

“High praise indeed, coming from you,” said Bard, chuckling. “They seem all right to me. And now that the treaty’s signed, we can see about getting the rest of your white gems back.”

Thranduil sighed again. “I would like that,” he said softly. “We brought them with us from Doriath. Auriel no longer wished to work at her forge, after what happened, she wanted to cut all ties to the family of her birth, and so she never wrought of them the jewellery she had planned.”

“How did they end up with the Dwarves, in the mountain?” Sigrid wanted to know. 

“She thought to mend the ties between our peoples,” said Thranduil. “It was not long after they had settled there. She took the box of gems and the necklace to them and asked if they could make something similar, or perhaps a suite of items. They asked for time to consider, and she gave it to them. And then she fell before the gates of Gundabad and she never had the chance to go back. I could not bring myself to go at first to retrieve them, but eventually I visited Thrór and asked for their return. Thrór demanded payment of the sum Auriel had agreed for the finished pieces, and when I pointed out that no work had been done, there were no finished pieces except the necklace that Auriel herself had wrought, Thrór snapped the box closed almost upon my fingers, and took it from me.” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and Bard could hear the suppressed anger in his voice, simmering and then ebbing away. “And so I did not feel particularly inclined to help the people of Erebor when the dragon attacked them. I had other reasons, as well, but that was one of them.”

“But we can get them back for you now,” said Sigrid. “Dáin has no ties to them, and no reason to hold them over you.”

Thranduil snorted softly. “We shall see,” he said. “I do not pretend to myself that we are friends simply because we signed a treaty today.”

“Well, maybe you can become…all right, perhaps not friends, but acquaintances who do business with each other,” said Bard. “Allies. I’m sure Dáin will grumble about already having given you a gesture of good faith by letting you have the necklace back, but…” he trailed off as an idea came to him and he had to think it through for a moment. “Do you think, perhaps, that Auriel might have liked it, if you asked the Dwarves now to make something from the remaining gems? Something you can keep as a memento of her, and of the attempt she made to build a bridge between your peoples?”

Thranduil was silent for a long moment, his eyes closed, and Bard reached out to curl his fingers around Thranduil’s hand, squeezing it gently, hoping he had not overstepped the mark. 

“To have something as she intended, even if it is not what she intended, for I do not know what she had in mind…” Thranduil’s voice was barely above a whisper, tense with remembered pain. “I think I would like that,” he said, slowly, and Sigrid leaned over to take his other hand. 

“Then we’ll speak to Dáin, Ada,” she said gently. “There are many talented jewel-smiths in the mountain, and they’re already talking about setting up stalls in the marketplace now that it’s more or less ready. You could see if any of them are making things that Auriel would have liked.”

“I think you are very wise, both of you,” said Thranduil softly. “And I think that Auriel would have approved. ‘Better late than never,’ she would probably have said.” He chuckled softly, ruefully. “She would have liked the idea that her original overtures towards the Dwarves might serve to strengthen our alliance now. Despite my stubbornness, which I am sure she would have found both deplorable and hilarious.”

“Better late than never,” said Bard quietly. “Have a think about what you might like them to make. How many of the gems are there?”

“Enough to fill a casket about this size,” said Thranduil, gently disengaging his hands from Bard’s and Sigrid’s and bringing them together, then separating them until they framed a space about eight inches long, four wide and four high. “Enough to make several necklaces, collars, cuffs, or perhaps to decorate a very grand dress, to encrust the bodice and stud the skirt. A dress for a wedding, for instance.”

“No need for one of those here,” Sigrid whispered, clapping her hand over her mouth as the words escaped. “Sorry, Ada. I didn’t mean…”

“I know you did not, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil with a smile. “And I know that you will have no use for such a thing. Although perhaps for a coronation -?”

Bard watched as Sigrid blinked and a smile spread across her face, although she shook her head. “I don’t want a fuss, Ada,” she said. “When the time comes, if it does, I’ll not be the sort of Queen who lords it over her people in fancy clothes and finery.”

“If the time comes,” Bard snorted softly, nudging her in the side. “I’m counting on it happening, sweetheart.”

“The people might decide they want someone else, Da,” said Sigrid. “I’m not going to assume any of it until it happens.”

“Very wise, melinettë-nín,” said Thranduil, a smile in his voice, “although I think there will be nobody so qualified to do the job as you.”

“Go on with you, Ada,” Sigrid said, blushing, “it’ll be years yet, and you never know, there might be someone else out there, we just don’t know it yet.”

“It’ll be you, Sig,” said Bain. “Come on, you know as well as I do that none of the rest of us want the job. It’ll be great, you can be Queen, I’ll be Captain of the Guard once Percy decides he doesn’t want to do it any more, Til can be Chief Diplomat In Charge Of Wrapping All Our Allies Around Her Little Finger, everything’ll be amazing.”

“We’ll see,” said Sigrid, but she was smiling, and Bard thought he could think of nobody else more suited to the job. Even now, young as she was, she was already running rings around him; he didn’t know how he could have done any of what he’d managed without her.

“We’ll see,” Bard echoed her, drawing her in to his side for a hug. Who knew what the future would bring - but in the meantime, the alliance between the three realms was sealed, and now they could move forward together, all of them looking out for each other. And Dale would become the capital of the North again, its streets bustling and lively, its market full of traders selling their wares, its orchards and gardens bearing fruit once more. It would be beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> melinettë-nín: my dear girl  
> ada: father (informal)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	88. Something Just For Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil talk a little about Dale's Midsummer traditions, and about Maudie and Auriel, and what it is to be a King - and make some plans for the gardens of the big house.

Eventually Tauriel joined them, bringing with her a flagon of Dwarven ale, and they sat and talked until the moon was high in the sky, exchanging tales about their respective Midsummer traditions. 

“Of course, we never stayed for the fire-jumping or the skinny-dipping,” Sigrid said, “but we heard all sorts of things afterwards.”

Bard chuckled. “I should think you did, although I hope you covered your ears for the worst of it.”

“I never wanted to hear it,” said Sigrid. “None of my business, but you know what people are like for gossiping. If they want to tell you, they’ll tell you regardless of whether you want to hear.” She pulled a face, and they all laughed. 

“Did you ever jump the fire, with Maudie, meleth-nín?” Thranduil asked, and Bard pulled a face too. 

“Once or twice,” he said. “It was the done thing, more or less, for a couple, especially after they first got together. Everyone would chant at you until you did it. I never much liked it, but Maudie thought it was hilarious.” He chuckled softly, remembering. “Not much happened the first few years, but then the year Sigrid arrived she was almost too big to be bothering with jumping over anything. She still made us do it, though, even though it was pretty obvious it wasn’t necessary.”

“Da!” said Sigrid, but she was smiling, and Bard shrugged and grinned at her.

“You know what your Mam was like, though, sweetheart. Cheeky to a fault. She’d never have let that one pass.”

“I do _not_ want to hear about it if you went skinny-dipping,” said Sigrid, and Bain echoed her. 

“Definitely not, Da,” he said, and Bard, Thranduil and Tauriel all laughed. 

“I won’t tell you, then,” Bard grinned. “Not a word.”

“Good,” said Sigrid, and they changed the subject after that. 

Later, once Sigrid and Bain had gone to bed, and Tauriel had excused herself to take a walk along the city walls under the night sky before she retired, Bard and Thranduil stayed in the garden for a while, reclining on the grass and looking up at the moon and the stars.

“So did you and Maudie go skinny-dipping at Midsummer?” Thranduil asked, and Bard turned his head to look at him, a grin spreading across his face.

“Of course we did,” he said. “Maudie would never have let an opportunity like that pass her by, although I could have taken or left it. Things often got a bit wild at Midsummer, but she never let anything get out of hand once we were together. She knew I didn’t want to be messing with anyone else.” He felt his grin softening into a smile as he thought of her, how gentle she had been with him, how understanding. There had only ever been Maudie for him, since he had been old enough to understand, although she had been rather enthusiastic in her experimentation as she had grown up. He had not thought she would have given him the time of day, they had been friends and nothing more, but eventually…well, eventually they had come to see eye-to-eye about things, and after that they had been inseparable.

“I am sorry I cannot meet her,” said Thranduil quietly. “She sounds like a rare gem.”

“She was,” said Bard. “She really was. Although…now I have you, and you are that, too.”

“You are very charming, meleth-nín,” said Thranduil, leaning over and brushing a kiss across Bard’s mouth; Bard reached up to curl his fingers around the back of Thranduil’s neck and held him there, kissing him back and darting his tongue between Thranduil’s lips. 

“No more so than you are,” he murmured. “And I’m sure there are a few people skinny-dipping in the river just now, but I’d far rather be here with you.”

Thranduil tilted his head very slightly, and smiled. “I can just about hear them,” he said, “and they are all having a wonderful time, by the sound of it. But I am glad you are here with me, instead.”

Bard chuckled softly. “It’s a shame there’s no river here, or at least, a pool or a fountain. I wouldn’t mind any of that in private with you. Although it’d have to be tucked away in the trees, or we’d be permanently scarring the children.”

Thranduil kissed him again. “I am sure it will be possible to create a pool in the further reaches of the garden, meleth-nín. Once Tilda’s trees grow it would be beautifully secluded, and very peaceful. Somewhere very pleasant to sit on a summer afternoon…and perhaps to bathe, after dark on Midsummer’s Night.” There was a soft, dark purr in his voice, and Bard shivered, pulling him close again for another deep, lingering kiss. 

“I think I would like that very much, love,” he said, murmuring against Thranduil’s lips. “Much as it doesn’t seem right to be thinking of making something just for myself - well, for us.”

“Nonsense,” said Thranduil. “It is your just reward for all you have done for your people and all you continue to do. You are allowed to take some payment for your hard work, for if you are not paid then that is slavery, and you would not inflict that on any of your people so you must not inflict it upon yourself either.”

“Oh,” said Bard. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I suppose I’m just so…it’s so important to me not to be like the Master, who took everything for himself. And it’s easier to say to myself, I can’t take anything, than to try and work out what’s all right to take, and what’s too much.”

“Your people will expect you to take a little,” said Thranduil. “Those things which denote you as their King. Your crown, for example, and this house and this garden. It is easier to take seriously a city whose leader looks and behaves like a leader, than one whose leader lives in among the people and works alongside them - I know, it is unfortunate, but that is the way the world works.” He raised a hand as Bard opened his mouth to protest, and Bard thought better of it. 

“I suppose I can see your point,” he said. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’ve always been one of them.”

“You are still one of them, meleth-nín,” Thranduil said. “It is only that you are now in more of a position to lead them than you were before, although lead them you did nevertheless.” He paused for a kiss, soft and lingering, and then continued. “Do you know, I am not of the same people as most of those whom I call ‘my people’. My parents were Sindar, so I am as well; Auriel was half Sindar and half Noldor. But our people are Silvan, the true Wood-Elves. When we fled the destruction of my home, we came to the Greenwood where the Silvan Elves lived. And we lived among them and they took my father for their King. We took on their culture and became part of it, but we were never quite the same as them. So I have always been set apart. I can tell you a great deal about that, but not about how to be a King when you have been raised to that position by your own people.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Bard. “Is that why most of your people have brown hair, or red, and only you and your son are fair-haired?”

Thranduil nodded. “It is. The Sindar are golden- or silver-haired, as a rule, and the Noldor are generally dark - although Auriel’s father was fair-haired, as was her mother, who was Sindar, and so she was, too. It is somewhat more complicated than that, but the Silvan Elves are usually russet-headed to a greater or lesser degree.”

“So Tauriel is Silvan,” said Bard, jumping to a conclusion, and he was gratified when Thranduil nodded.

“She is. Although a person’s origin has never mattered very much to me, as long as that origin has not been harmful to myself or my people.”

“Hence you not being all that keen on Dwarves,” said Bard, a laugh in his voice, and after a moment Thranduil chuckled softly.

“Indeed,” he said. “All of the Dwarves I have so far encountered have been nothing but trouble, to put it lightly. But Auriel had faith in them, and I will admit that Dáin Ironfoot seems honourable enough.”

“Maybe we’ll mend those bridges between your peoples yet,” said Bard. “Especially if you do decide to commission something new from Auriel’s gemstones.”

“I will think about it,” said Thranduil. “And if it is the only way to retrieve them from the mountain, then so be it.”

“Especially if you can get something beautiful out of it to remember her by.” Bard smiled, and tilted his face up for a kiss. “I think if you can do what she intended to do but never got the chance to, all that time ago, then you’re honouring her memory, even now.”

“I would like that, I think,” Thranduil murmured. “I have spent so long struggling to know what to do with my memories of her; I cannot forget her, but I could not bear to think of her for so long. The only memorial to her I could countenance was a statue at the entrance to the forest on the Elven road. I never leave my halls, or I never did, and so I did not have to see her, although I suppose the idea that she was protecting the road on my behalf brought me some small comfort.” He sighed softly. “But now you have taught me how to let her memory bring me joy as well as pain. I would like to honour her by fulfilling her wishes, although I do not know what she would have requested the Dwarves to make, and I have no idea what to commission from them now.”

“You don’t have to do it now,” said Bard. “Just think on it. Something will come to you. And you’ve got all summer at the very least.” He smiled, reaching up to tuck a few strands of hair behind Thranduil’s ear, brushing deliberately against the tip and leaning in for a kiss when Thranduil drew in a sharp breath. 

“Much more of that and I will have to take you up to bed,” said Thranduil, that purr back in his voice again, and Bard laughed against his mouth. 

“Who says that wasn’t what I was intending?” he said. “It’s Midsummer, after all.”

“So it is,” said Thranduil. “I am given to understand that Midsummer is a time for all manner of delights, for the people of Dale.”

“You could say that,” said Bard, leaning up for another kiss. “Do you know, I think we should go up to bed now. Otherwise I’ll not be responsible for my actions, and if any of the children should look out of the windows we _will_ be scarring them permanently.”

Thranduil chuckled darkly. “Then lead the way, meleth-nín. Let us celebrate Midsummer in our own way, out of the way of any prying eyes. Or any impressionable onlookers. I would not want to upset the children.”

“Come on, then,” said Bard. 

And they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin translations:**  
>  (source: ambar-eldaron.com's dictionary last updated October 2008):
> 
> meleth-nín: my love
> 
> (sorry about the fade-to-black! I'm a bit smutted-out at the moment, thanks to [All I Want Is You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797687), but I'm hoping the muse will be back soon...in the meantime you'll all just have to use your imaginations! :D )
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


End file.
